Wednesday Riff: Knock Knock

What kind of man is this?
That he should keep on coming to the door
Of my heart, mind, consciousness,
Through the long nights and the jagged days.
Me in my confirmed and set ideas,
With my religious pride and madness,
The thoughts chasing one another 
Around the maze of my mind like rabid dogs.
He in his glorious resurrection rags,
The ultimate prodigal,
Who knows what it is to party
And to live with the pigs.
To eat slurry and spend time with those for whom
Money is short and sex the only means of trade.
He limps up the road of my self-absorption,
Steps over the distractions and clutter,
And knocks again, as he did yesterday,
And the day before that,
Unworried by the filth on the doorstep.
Knock knock.
‘I’ve brought your favourite food.
Free, nourishing and richly satisfying,
Would you like to eat together?’

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