What need have I of Christ
When I crucify myself each night
Under the billows of smoke
The lipstick ashtrays the putrid musk
Of table dancers and their gawping answers
Of mottled eye candy and its tender threat?
I’ll beard them with my friendly growl
All dust, bone and entrail.
I’ll bid them hear the lurch
Of my ravelled heart.
I sing with my liver
I pray out of mangled lips
My stage is my crucifix
My cancer is your cure.
I mock hell with my dead man’s laugh
It mocks me back with song.
Till I try anew with madness
Howling into wires a mangy dog of love
Making a name for the horrified rage
That each turn of the planet exhales
Sends creeping through space like sperm
In search of its gawping answer.
I hang on platforms
And half-real street corners
Never going anywhere
For everywhere is here.
Till it’s time to mount my cross again
And bleed raw bone to ether
My rasping whisper of love.
And from inside my nimbus
Of company, smoke and death,
I seem to dream a question:
Are you man enough for me?
Am I real enough for you?