SHACKLED

his soul    
was a shiny plate in his
childish imagination  
and every lie  
a stain  
and every secret  
a blackish smudge upon it,  
indelible  
despite the promises
and incantations
and poor ol' bloody jesus  
with his mournful eye  
and thorny heart  
and goddamn, lord,  
there weren't no hiding  
in your garden,  
no sneaking past  
your knowing  
and he was just a boy,  
undeserving  
of the taint of sin  
he carried 'till  
the day he died