I flip the folio to the Man of Sorrows
Of the Duke and Duchess of Savoy. They
Mutely observe Christ excrutiated,
Wounded, standing on a lower green alp,
A blue chateau behind him, a lake, and
Behold! Jesus bleeds in all this beauty.
The Latin inscription – this can’t be right!
I think it says: “I have lost track of crimes
This year, and I will give praise. My god is
Small but is aided by my story.” No,
I never studied Latin formally.

I must have it backwards. Who would write that?
Before I combination-locked myself
In here, America packed babies in
Boxes, wrapped them in foil, and they all wailed.
The Dukes of Hazzard and Amarillo
Flanked them left and right, stared down passively
And blamed the other party for their pain.
Lord, I, too, have lost track of crimes this year.
I am buried like Faust in my books. But
I sell no souls. My god is not small. He
Figures prominently in this, my story.