The beast, the harlot.

(A reflection and no stone to cast.)
Swollen breasts and black eyes,
lips coated with seed and crimson-dipped nose;
body of an animal- raw pulp- and yet, yet,
the pink tongue is wagging with blasphemy.

(A silhouette and no owner to claim.)
Palms up and six hundred three-score carved-
alas, He did not birth scarlet water-
and the jagged tear of a mouth grinning while
the children swallow their mothers and sing.

(O, my cries have fallen upon deaf ears!)
Eclipsed hands and wooden crucifix trembling,
splintering the nude flesh while the sky moans.
Sins tattooed on the god’s script, and Her
rot brewing like a fever inside of the womb.

(O, man has slipped through the cracks!)
Clenched jaw and broken teeth on display;
He speaks through graveyard lullabies and
sways - a dance - to the cries of the damned,
while the rest of man makes love on pins & needles.