Sacrilege

Myths control masses
like a Ghostbuster toaster,

ectoplasm-blasted

schism cracked chasm.

Lasting iconoclastic sarcasm.

Smash stained glass

in case of caustic flashes.

Morse coded messages

three dots, three dashes -

Three dots

from a flaking Teflon pan

on a steak,

then the plaque in the brain

and the ache.

Paroxysm Sunday

at church, shaking hands.

That resurrected

in the mind of a man

religion.

Didn’t see it was bleak

when a minor miracle was

a parking lot reflected

sunlight backlit,

infected pigeon

with a twig in its beak.

Catechism dumper.

Alabama slammer.

Hammered Bible-thumper

burning crosses, sheet bleaching

ham-handed, ham-fisted preaching,

Cryptic cryptid in a chrysalis:

Christ pissed, betrayed,

kissed,

whipped, crowned,

nailed, impaled,

missed.

After dark,
dad awash in wine,

alcohol mist

shrouded.

Third day bender-blind,

pissed pants reek.

Sweaty kiddo in the trailer park,

bruise on his cheek,

shouted,

“Jesus in a juice box,

rolled away the foil,

kicked off his birkenstocks,

washed his feet in oil.”

Holy, holy, holy

shit.

Fuck this human toil.