lines of fire his talons stuck fast in pulpit wood i want him
to open a door or my lips pump my bellows body every verse he points to tears he calls me (dustbound) my teeth breaking flimsy wafer & plastic pannikin (dirtfilled) Jesus’ veins actual or not dye for me my khaki pants my clumsy hands haven’t we been given
enough blood already me i keep spilling
my own hungry as this god of strawberry wrists & eucharist trapped fire fly in honeyed jar straight razor’s darkly mirror i was only going to live these three days my untimely deresurrection erection confession adolescent wet dreams so send me to hell to dry or maybe just sing and fuck and let spill
every fluid on my khakis unashamed uninhibited grace
tastes like pine like the call from the hotel front desk my wake he rolls me inside our tousled sheets tucks me once more we form worlds with fleshy tongues never fully incarnated i could worship him even for a bit could i be an idolater his image graven within my mind without
worry of the watched never for a second have i felt alone unhaunted
my thoughts my unholy ghost i get my spirits confused drunk like sweet grape juice downed in a swallow never enough i partake in this communion of saints every spook i've ever met every face silhouetted in these spruce pews this treacherous sanctuary they sharpen
blades in discordant hymn shape crosses wear crosses crucify me wrong
side down thorny hair sets crooked roots needle fingers drip sap-laden i wait not for rainy baptism my hollows hoard every church’s precious air i pray to combust to melt my resin skin spill seed to unwashed soil serotiny not for progeny but another me another cup at the table where for grace
i never once close my eyes my mouths