visions of jesus on the way to boise

are sun-warped
slanting cutouts
kinko-copied by
zealots waving
as you head east
down old u.s. 30.

If you stop for a roadside piss, jesus close-up looks like john lennon.

next summer they’re headed for the landfill; trashed like fluorescent
crosses in front of st. matt’s cross, or the devils rising eight feet high
are sun-warped
at donny's used
auto where the
shadow of hell
dances thin and
gaudy over your
face. each jesus
meanwhile rots,
and wobbles as
sun batters into
blossom our ink
and paper savior.