kneeling before a cardboard cut-out
     of the son of god on a cardboard throne--
I lower my head, lace my fingers, and ask
     can I be ***** and holy?
     can I be thirsty for the milk and hungry for the steak?
     can I rewrite and walk off the dock?
     can I smudge mascara and watercolor her form?
     can I point the finger and hold the smoking gun?
     can I hustle and innocently dream?
     can I die and seem more than I mean?