Black Mail

Stick the finger inside

the chink;

nail long and sharp.

Wriggle it,

jugg,

until it draws blood.

Lick it in your mouth,

savor the taste;

and know your diet

has changed.

Be the first at the crucifixion.

Stand me (and them and her and him)

where once we each together

stood.

Find it plausible now

to jeer,

escaped within your armor.

There never was a crucifixion

of a completely armored man.

Imagine this: a suit of mail,

of metal plate;

no place to press the dagger in.

Nothing but the eyes

to stick

with narrow truth.

Burning sharp,

burning bright;

burning righteous,

but burning blind.