The Journey to Jerusalem

by John
(London, England)

It
is
done

then to dine on steak, drink sassafras? or
to go but wanting not to leave
and
to pass the baton on

it
is
done
though I've not gone

this is just the practice run
the unloaded gun lays on the
ironing board
the television blaring
daring me to do it now,
but there's a programme I must see
on the BBC or ITV or one of several channels in-between
a feature that I should have seen but never did.

The bleak in me or the weak in me
I'm never sure which one
tells me not to switch the TV on
and to do the deed and go into the self destruct,
get f*cked I say,
not too often,
but as often as I need.

and so to lighten up I
read a copy of Punch,
a magazine,
I have a hunch I've read this one before
nevertheless it closes the door on depression
and lets a little light creep in.

Sin do tell when you ring the bell
and holler out unclean
so I can wash the feet of virgins
feed street urchins and
touch the robe.

the drawling days
nature
and her funny ways,
I have to laugh at times
and at those times
it's not so bad.

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