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

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,
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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