– Knots in Crosses –
I walk the city as a stranger,
my prayers now borne
on the crosses of beggars.
With heavy hearts on twisted legs,
we are a nation of outsiders,
built upon our backs
by those in better straits.
We are reviled for that helplessness
which persists as a symptom
of our social disease.
We distance ourselves from the truth;
That we are only welcome
within the warmth of a compassionate heart.
The mark of our personal value is reflected
by that which we hold most precious.
I see the truth of your Gods;
Christ kept in crystalline fashion,
a rhinestone rosary
swinging from the rear view mirror
of your Classic Cadillac.
Neither life nor hope,
neither love nor grace
could ever be enough to satisfy
your need to possess.
The morality of my religion
is more than just intent;
I live by my convictions.
I thrive by those greater codes
of human connection,
spending time as my only currency,
folding dollar bills into paper cranes
to send them sailing out across the city sky.