Fossilized Hadrosaur clavicles. Lack of Trilobites. Ancient news. The covers shrug away, slicked sweat cooling skin in the air rush that comes, and sudden awake. In the holly bushes remnants of snow and crickets' legs, the crickets themselves also long since fossilized. Coffee has become the new beer, even decaffeinated. A hangover looms at ten AM but for now the light is an oil spill. Speaking of oil: fossils. At Golgotha Jesus was offered wine mixed with gall or vinegar or myrrh or both, depending on who you listen to, those primary Gospels said to be eyewitness accounts. Translated from ancient Hebrew or Aramaic or both to Koine Greek to modern English, none of the gospels are consistent. But the Church presents this tenth Station of the Cross like a fossil: fossilized Jesus stripped of his fossilized garments and crucified on a fossilized cross. Burning god I light my way to work on a dew-slicked freeway passing fossils vaporized into free carbons themselves working to render us fossils. I'd have drunk that wine if it was mixed with with animal bile or piss or fucking arsenic it wouldn't have mattered much at that point to me.
Jamie Iredell wrote Prose. Poems. a Novel. and The Book of Freaks.
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