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hagiography, i

by

kris t kahn



this is after the
bottle of myrrh
had long been empty,
after i sat on the
stone steps of the
cathedral & did not weep
once. i swear

the cracked places implicate us.

Come suckle
on my side where
they speared
me, let me
tell you more
stories, let
the water rinse
us clean &

(before any blood
stained any rocks or
handkerchiefs,
before we'd even reached
the skulls, seen them
parched against the horizon
like little dying suns)

my brother is lost. no. he is
submerged, laughing.
palms full of water & carp &
his fingers! his fingers
are my lips, the salt
stuck to them, i open my eyes
i open my mouth & say

Let me let you.
Let me tell you more
stories like

mimeography & how i am
thumbtacked to the walls of
post offices, the backs
of my palms flat against the cork, my face
shaped like an ape's &
devoid of any prophecy:

no one has found me since.

we lay in caves, in the wee hours
of my century, finger
to finger, both trying to find me. after the
bottle of myrrh, after the stone steps,
after my ruptured intestines.
though before Adam,
before any blood so

back to the water, our palms full of it as
we begin at the beginning
which is always always the end
of me







ABOUT THE AUTHOR

kris t kahn's work has appeared in The Cortland Review, Scarlet Letters, Naked Poetry, Stirring, and various other journals. His chapbook, the Gospel according to Thomas, was published by 2River View and is also available on the web. kris is co-founder and co-editor of the online poetry journal SOMETIMES CITY. He currently lives in New Jersey.




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