Squeeze squeeze the lemon rind until sour juice whets
your hellbent fangs, sinners lost in hellmouths yellow.
In the lands of gods and monsters, I keeled over with the
unrepentant wind, and the haranguing scorch of a kettleboil
sun proclaimed over the swamplands: on these falling piers
we will crown our God. In this detritus of washed up dreams,
let us choose Lucifer from among the decaying Victorian houses.
Church with Saint George on in lancing the dragon, I spear up
in red-tailed hawk providence to scout out the madness, this
whole plague of a kingdom is cursed, no one's gonna take my
soul away, there's a flesh of red poppy to eat at the altar!
Let's nosedive into the Sacrament and huff up blood to get high.
Divine gore and gristle tastes like the better parts of the cow.
Long pig, Jesus' body laid out baked and basted to give us food.
Pork out on the Southern Gothic barbecue of our Lord and Savior!
My apple tree, my bride. Tis time we were together, forever.
For I smell of the earth, and my angels say, am slain by weather.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Mary Magdalene: Poems from Christ's Wife
PoetryMary Magdalene writes on her love for Christ. And follows him to Hell. And back again. (A collection of poems, prayers, and meditations from the year I walked with the Lord.)
