Human

A book-bearing man is still as a wall, like the blue attached to the sky, momentarily paused.    
Anxious, a white sheet covering his shivering,    
   
silver skin, he looks ready.    
His lips break and ooze like    
wet cracks in recent paintings.    
   
The carnivores are at the waterhole,    
watching. Open are their pipes of cynical shit    
heaving into this world.    
   
Head to the ground. His dark, desperate eyes search the setting.   
Holy hands hot on my throat and patient, wanting freedom.    
The wolves take his carcass and mutilate it, in the daylight saving time.      
   
A bearer stands, where only the bearer can, on the water hemisphere.    
"And run." Whimpers the wind, as we do,    
though it's one of many unholy thoughts.    
   
He who cast the first stone. - On crumbling knees, a    
bitter laugh lands and caresses religious tongue.    
'O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass away from me:    
   
nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.'    
"My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"    
   
   
   
   
Matthew 26:39    
Matthew 27:45-46