POEM TO FATHER JOSEPH MASKELL
...and streams of piss, warm as imbued with amour, wettened the holy catafalque,
as the circle of holy pederasts moved about withershins
around the columbaria
of all childrens' bones ground -
not as an honorific gesture of remembrance, fuck no,
but as to rouse these wicked dead,
as to claim what is rightfully
theirs.
the congregation of the vicars touch themselves -
and each-other -
over the thought of ever getting caught red-handed
by the spirits of the restless children,
which never were properly maschalized:
why, you wonder? -
because these men of filth could not bare the thought
of ever putting a hatchet
or a blade of cutting sharpness
to the blazing cold flesh
of their holiest and holiest of all holies.
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