Their hands are like marshmallows, white and pudgy.
Sticky-sweet, they catch in her throat, then melt
into snakes and wrap themselves around her heart.
Jesus Christ never visited the Vatican.
His hands are hard and dark.
A wine-stained kiss brings cold comfort.
"Open your ears, and I shall speak to you."
The screaming light of eternity rages behind his eyes.
"You are dead, but don't know it."
Mother Agnes trampled the sheep asleep in their pens.
Tomorrow, her bloody footprints will still lead back
to a yesterday that never was. The lambs' song is bleak.
3 hours ago