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It was Good Friday morning in Oxford Street, London About 7.45 to 8.00 am The time of executions Lord knows, I was lost and hungry And maybe looking for a Sign Any sign And there he was The guy with Jesus's face Leaning against the far wall Swaying from sleeplessness Rocking in and out of consciousness I thought 'Fuck, he's still being crucified' We all are. But I wanted to take a picture. As he was so Christlike. I wanted to cry. But he was so tired I didnt want to further upset him Pointing my camera. So I took a clandestine shot. I felt guilty. The guy was clearly distressed and there was I pointing a camera at him. I thought I must give him some money For drugs or booze or whatever This Christlike figure needed a break So I counted out my change And wrapped about 10 dollars up in a tissue to give him So no one else would see Then as I stared at his Christlike face I thought what happens if I have it wrong And he's not homeless and poor But offended by my offer. I was also thinking What if nothing is real And reality is just sometinmg projected Within a couple of metres around me How would we know? So I sat there rubbing the coins in my hand Till it hurt And thinking We all have recycled faces There are only so many This guy just looked like the Son of God But I got the courage up in the end And walked past the expressionless black woman Sitting opposite me gazing at nothing And walked up to Jesus. 'This is for you ' I said , pushing the money towards him He took it with bleeding hands And his voice cracked as he said Thank You I am ashamed to exist in this world.
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