When Skies Turn Heretic

~ a poem ~

Image pixabay by tedy22

God walked amongst us in chrome leather…

blood called for blood

all day singsong of little riddles

fell on asphalt but no one heard:

blood calling for blood

drowned hum of pollinating bees

rhizomes were eaten by a pox

rotated regions of brilliance

we call gems curdled and died.

a priest intoned indecipherable

benedictions then whispered,

“Tomorrow I will sodomize you, boy!”

Inmates wept at a last day

of insanity in an asylum:

they had nowhere left to go.

When skies turn heretic

it’s a turning point for complacency

but no one cared:

blood was calling for blood

and we, all aroused

for a carnal disembowelment.

More beggars were buried

in mass graves,

in a neglected garden

mating calls of cardinals