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Coronation
Tim Vanderstoep
A cursing rank of soldiers
here by virtue of a bad career move
a soldier’s mantle
clings to your whip-ploughed back
a twist of thorns
beaten onto your head
a wooden staff
thrust into your grip-weary hand
there you stand, King of the Jews
and they scream it in your face
your throne a cross
the kingdom comes with power
in the death of the King
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