one : eucharist  /// last supper
ceremonial knife curves down,
dull silver blade a fogged-out mirror â
and as he cuts into his thigh he says,
lo and behold, this is my flesh,
the very body of heaven.
how raw it is, this absolution;
how tar-dark, how honeyed-sweet.
we feast on it in silence,
tongue and teeth all an aching,
tearing into the paradise of him with
singed, burning throats, fingers a forest
of bloodied shadows.
two : dead ends  /// not that the start is ever living
in the beginning, there is always
god and a graveyard and the same old coin
tied to your left hand, proof of an unbroken
marriage to the earth.
pick one, the divine samsar says,
and gestures to the holt of stone, his smile
too full of jagged teeth â for both of you
already know the path.
three : where is your ghost? Â ///Â last seen 07 | 07
it glimmers on the walls,
effervescent and saline, flickering
for only a moment at a time â
a map of phantom stars,
faithfully trying to guide you,
if only youâd have eyes.
it leaves itsâ breathy kisses
on the bathroom mirror, on the pane
of broken glass above
the kitchen sink, all in vain hope
youâll someday notice, yet
you only ever see your scarred feet.
four : starry-eyed  /// oh, to be young
and what is adoration, if not
the open-mouthed hunger
for oneâs lost, forbidden god?
is veneration not the
ardent wish to be the lone one
chosen in a crowd?
five : forgiveness  /// eat it!
it roots on the tongue, too
insincere to even fester.
it doesnât smolder, the hate
you still do harbor â
it isnât even ash, a mere long,
scarred line of smoke
running discreet the length
of your sternum.
moving on, you see, is
only kindness for the self.
six : black cat crossing  /// felis felix
and the proscribed nativity
of her hipline
has you thinking that perhaps
selling your soul for a night
of tainted love
cannot be that bad a luck.
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