“I have a friend in Jesus”
 says the kid sporting a
 second-hand suit and
 disinfectant eyes.
 
 With a righteous buzz he
 greets strangers,
 distributes pamphlets,
 spreads his word,
 immune to their
 rejection and
 avoidance.
 
 How comforting his faith must be - 
 to swim the
 medicinal vapors
 of certainty,
 
 rather than gather
 apples in the
 orchard of
 not knowing. 

 It doesn’t much matter
 what yips and squeaks
 leak and dribble from our
 little selves,
 those cuts and scars
 tattooed in the caverns
 of memory, beyond recognition,
 like electricity.
 
 Habits, hankerings
 and those entitlements
 play like cheap burlesque,
 to an audience of nought,
 
 and miss the point:
 
 everything gets gone,
 not sometimes,
 but always;
 
 and one of the
 numerous human tasks
 is to know
 when that inexplicable end
 
 is important.