jesus als schmerzmann - jesus the man of pain.
his face is worn with several centuries of suffering.
the wood is antiquated. his exhausted features are carved like hunger.
so what if i'm hung over? if i'm sick to my gut and sore to my soul?
he holds out his hollow hands - not plaintively -
there is no question in his eyes, no begging in his arms.
he displays his wounds with mournful assurance,
his beard curls luxuriously, chiseled in exquisite contrast
to the meager matter of his holy body.
he is permanently straining under the weight of his symbolism,
the thorns. the gash. the nail-holes streaming with meaning.
his starvation and exposure are direct, to the point.
this is a christ whose fragile back was made to break.
the heavy hollows of his wooden cheeks leave nothing out.
his lips are sealed forever silent, a loud cry, not out,
but resounding inside. he is
as still as the mute block from which he emerged.