the pope shifts his fish head, ruby eyes…
god’s rottweiler
stands over the pinecone and under the silver star
condemning and chastising
while tens of thousands of pedophiles
console families in their time of grief.

stars fell from the heavens below
replacing the petrified eyes of the hypnotized

sodom and gomorrah, alive and well
salt covers the floor of their laboratory.

don’t look back
don’t send me an angel

they cracked the sarcophagus of jesus
and gift-wrapped the mummy in
thin sheets of mechanized petroleum,

laid him at the clawed toes of molech
betty crocker and julia child
fall from under each wing, resurrected
chopping onions and slicing carrots
for the whole world to taste the flavor of worship.
again-salt.

god’s rottweiler licks the trails that stream
from my wrists
with the sandpaper tongue
of a pussycat.

i fall in love with a vision,
yearning to disrobe the image and slide down,
it sits on my face.

i wake from inbetween parchment of chaffed calligraphy.
ink from the quill of a drunk scribe
mats my flesh
eyelids, paste shut.

the greatest stories ever told just became real.
the cover is a cheese grater.

open your heart.
now close it-you’re letting a draft in.

Christo, the silk magi
exchanges mediums and wraps the vatican
in caution tape…

Michael Jackson moonwalks across the veranda,
snatching the fish head off of the head of the pope.
slick scales, tail flapping
smearing his red zipper straight jacket in oil.

he dangles the specimen over the rail
of the balcony
like a baby boy
he proudly wants to display
to the world.

it slips from his hug.
hits the concrete like a thousand pound slug
no blood,
just fruit bats, exploding…
blankets the whitest sky this side of orion.

i die for fantasy
as farmers and politicians
sacrifice their first born
to a horned owl.

guano, everywhere.