Thursday, February 21, 2008

mama, help me up the stairs

i'm tired of the zealot.
the martyr has been stoned once and for all:
the hypocrite.

your alms have stained my skin deep purple,
a lash against poverty of the soul,
the sacrifice of copper.

a body ravaged.
now claim your temple,

you have lain your mortar, your bricks, your
gospel flanks stone windows
like muslin rent in two.

the sinner is down.
tongues of fire lick wounds
big as offering.

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