where gold has turned to
incense.
Not Camus nor Coventry Carol,
Neither Reni nor a
Rubens
Can corral these tears from Buckeyes
Crashing onto blood-soaked
pavements.
No sleep for Samaria
Amid moans from Rachel's Ramah
You called it, Jeremiah.
What happened to our wise men?
When did they flee the massacre?
Why did we let them go?
How can we say the Epiphany's on its way
When Matthew's deemed a liar—
Does even Jesus know?
If he does, he surely wept
as truth was swept
down Hell's pitch hole.
Tweets and treats at @jenngidman.
