Found this going through my old journals… written in early 1994, at least a decade before I was known as Jesus Crisis, while I lived in a two-man cell at Lorain Correctional Institution, not long after my transfer from the county jail.  Like any poem, it can be “improved.”  But Ferlinghetti admonished the artist against “paring his fingernails, refining himself out of existence.”  And I use his words as an excuse to offer this oldie to you with hardly any revision.


A fog is upon us
I can’t see the sun for the moon in my eyes
Night has fallen
I can’t see the truth through these tears I disguise

Sing me lighter
Soothe my aching head
Touch this hem
Help me break like bread

A fog is upon us
The words I speak are of flesh and thorns and mud
Right has fallen
And I can’t taste the wafer for all this blood



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Put on a happy face! (JC and Mom)
[in the Marion Correctional Institution visiting room, c. 1994-1995]

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