Every Broken Thing

Liquid Jesus
The Poetry Of Lance McKnight
Liquid Jesus


    What if, this time, he weeps for another
    reason. Realizes his role as man and
    not as savior. Pulls friend back
    from cusp of grace, denies him God's
    presence to make him man
    with God denied. Are there no words?

    A perfume distinct as no other, poured
    wastefully out upon feet and flows
    aimlessly about in fluid dirt-lined rivulets.
    Would not you wail as well? To bring him

    back from light, spirit and no pain?
    How sad to raise the dead, brought back
    to land, not light. And now
    he howls in pain, not pity.