The Gospel of Judas is stolen from a male antiquities dealer.
The heist is organized by a woman with well manicured nails.
She runs her reds under the purple lining of his jacket. He lets her
take photos of his entire collection. He poses next to the door lock.
Judas sold Jesus for forty silver pieces and / or a kiss. As a traitor,
my bets are on the long shot kiss. It's my only chance at winning.
Michael D. Chapman, has just finished catching small children
from jumping off of cliffs when he decides to take a trip to New
York. He is tired of everyone looking towards the wrong light.
John Lennon is no Jesus. No sir. The phonies got to go. Yes sir.
I break into this world while my mother is working at an antique shop.
I christen a Victorian rug with embryonic fluid. The old is stained new.
No one yet has read the codex. No one knows it's Judas howling in
that papyrus. The antiquities dealer gets the scrolls back. The woman
disappears. What are the chances that gun shots are synchronized --
bullets organized into choirs to make harmonies of this world --
I want to believe we're mimics of the divine. John Lennon accepts
Chapman's kiss with gratitude. All is done in, with, and for Love.
Judas is locked in a safety deposit box in Hicksville, New York; rotten
humidity eating chunks out of his words. A gun is grown into the flesh
of Chapman's hand. John Lennon bleeds on the steps of the Dakota. I
recognizing color for the first time. My eyes focused on mother's light.
Jesus says, forgive you, if forgive me. Judas says, forgiven you, but I
won't forgive me. Jesus says, we'll just have to keep this show going then.
Mother says, I didn't mean to burn you. I am too young to understand --
language: fire is a verb substitution for love.