Religiously I align with the Catholics and their languid mysteries
these Mystics
bent in untold patterns
stone cells remain
inviolate
they pad their Mother with the fat of the Beast
pray to the Sky God progeny to descend
whoa
unknowable crisis that feeds on your time
The Jesus grips the good sense
laughs at the rock strewn beach of shame
(in North Bend the children scorn Holy Men)
drawing scenes of pogroms in the sand
with driftwood sticks made of wormwood
on the shore of the pacify
we burn the effigies of strangers
fellow met on the logged roads of Paradise
awake in the darkness bowels of the Mother
awake at the Dawn shifting the ocean moves
as we listen for the echoes of oaths
made with small mammals in veins – the
classic soul grab naked witness infested
and these creatures search our eyes for dispensation
wafers in a crooked smile
secure in the ethereal ego of now
we make our way back South