Protest # 1,003,989 (Decal Burninator)

Spiritus sanctus
licked me,
holy phantom-fire fingertap
ice hot, not
ethereal but
sidereal, solid, starlong,

the burning one
burning through my skin’s mind,
curling it lathe-like and lithe,
flesh folding up like
paper blackened, flame-eaten,

all your animals blazing through me,
fiery doves
and serpents and
foxes,
lions

roaring gouts of flame,
bellow and shriek of praise,
butt and clack of rams ramming
inside my ribcage,
a red-dyed ache of ages,

it’s your world-dissolving chuckle,
ah!
your flesh-shucking footstep!
horns of light gore every pore,
stabbing from your flashing hand—

that I might learn, poor student,
that I might love, poor suitor,
that truth may track me down a little,
trap me, truss me up, skin me alive
and hold my bloody meat in searing

compassion, reclothe
me in death-redemptive hides,
hide me inside his side so capacious,
eat me alive with love
hallowed and rapacious.

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