I am Diagnosed, by J.M. Kolodzyk

call me Judas—


the betrayer with a

dirty sack of coins

between my legs, running


call me Pontius Pilate—


the eclipsed moon

cannot disguise

streams of rose petals

dripping into a bowl

of clear water as I

hide within this stone chamber

away from the populace


call me


the pages were dirty,

a Southside kid

without clear comprehension,

did you see me as this?

it is no doubt

I am misunderstood

I misunderstood


sorrow, I pray,

the halls of the

Basilica sponge

my prayer

unanswered prayer

for forgiveness,

understanding that

God has made us—

yes, you and I—


and things cannot be


even in Joseph’s



is there strength in

this friend,

or even greatness?


sense this


I reach out

a sensation

to call

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