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I have amassed a treasure

Of cryptocoins* of shame

I want to give you

To recreate what time took from you

When it left you bare and alone.

The currency of shame

Is all the charity I have to give you

In your moment of pain and distress.

So, be gentle, ladies,

On your breath

Depends the breath of life.

A vessel for the times

I channel your desire

A mirror for the age

I eat your heart

A tube for contemporary vice

I flicker across your thirsty eyes

And feed your hunger.

God makes us immaculate

The times unmake us and re-cast us crudely

Even in the spotless garb

Of fashion flashing

Old fancy in new glamour

Who shall ‘scape the whipping of the times?

The shredding of the latest image technology?

The dust on yesterday’s film reels?

And the fading of the poet’s photograph?

The fallen petals of his flowers of evil —

Words of blessing he left us to trade in

the last poet of the Christian age and only wordsmith of capitalism

Charles Baudelaire

Excuse me, that I am so crude

To your taste and sensibility

So rough, uncouth, obscene,

So popular and pop art wired

I only tried to still your hunger

Roy Lichtenstein

And my shame

Is all the love I got to give,

My only thread to your heart.

My shame is your honour,

Your crown I gladly give you

As I abdicate and surrender

All power to your mercy.

Be graceful, lady,

For your mercy is all the propping

That separates the Creator

From His immaculate Creation

And both from the crudeness of the time

That causes unloved limbs to bend

Unnaturally to support

The weight of the age’s odium —

Adam’s most chilling loneliness —

Its merciless destruction

Made good in ever new garbs,

The garbage of tomorrow.

Be graceful, lady, gentle man,

And hear the harmony of shame

For it is my precious shame

That brings me closer to you

On circulation routes

From me to you and all the rest,

My dearest ones!

Lyonel Feininger, Woodcut, Hanseatic [trade] Ships, 1919

Let my shame shed itself

With the fashion of yesterday

And keep time’s crypto-coins —

Tokens of my mortification —

For they are all the truth

And all that’s left of me

And all that’s spared

By time’s consummate hunger.

For without your love

Even the Creator

Would be crippled and alone

And by the breath of your grace

Are Adam’s lonely limbs

Re-created and made whole again

*this poem is an anti-socialist policy statement that reads capitalism as the currency of shame; for we are all sinners and sin the very currency we trade in; Christ the redeemer taught us that humans cannot escape sin; no human can be as pure and free of sin as the Son of Man; only God’s grace, which animates our love, can save our works of shame, nothing we do and even less what socialist governments wish we did; for that He died and if we don’t honour the individual capital and burden of sin every brother in Christ shares, we don’t honour His sacrifice; only love has the power to re-create us as God intended

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