Tuesday, September 8, 2009

On Catechism

is an acolyte cloaked by the night. All remnants
of human devoid in his skin.

A boy cries. nobody is around
to hear him.

Who are you? A possession--an ascent to great,
ignominious passion. Catechumen.

Sometimes sweat hardens like bacon fat & grit. The children suck greedily from a nun’s tits. Her milk, a holocaust stain. A venomous liquor recognized only by snakes…

You wept Jesus where she hit you last.