I Can't Avoid His Crown Of Thorns… Poem by Mark Heathcote

In a soggy crib, a pocket of winter
I can't avoid His crown of thorns
Loving reflexions on a Judas accuser
His tongues sharp; glacier swords.

Oh, Rasputin, they're mine own too
Oh, don't split hairs dear blasphemer
You're I is no peasant, mystic
You're no adviser faith-healer to me.

There are no more honest, lovers—
More straightforward than he
We're all of us Philistines to a one
Captured & here drown in our own cribs.