I am the light you don’t have
just a hole in your tent
from which you can see my radiance
I am the can of soup
which multiplies for feeding five
pass it around and drink my blood.
I give to the least of these
scabbards for your paring knives
Caesar’s gold is hidden
where rust doth not corrupt.
They buried me in a pauper’s ditch
you will be blessed with a vinyl box
I never came back from the dirt
neither will you
sing to each other, I’m not listening.