poetry & paganism

Sacred relics
  left untouched
  like a mad girl’s virginity
   [at least, you pray]

There are chords despite the tell
  they decrecendo well
  & diminish to where
  you imagine there’s
nothing wrong but there’s
       something wrong I swear

  red flags & alarm bells

    flapping of wings in mourning
          it’s too dark to be morning
       it’s too dark to
              dream anything but the moment
I wonder now that you’re deceased
        and I believe, you can see everything
       will your image of me, change?
more than anyone else you had a hand
      in staging my final product
                 the priest was right
about encouragement, at least/
       my part, my piece forgone, defiled

           I know you know what I meant
–number two

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