The tips of my toes curl
fold inwardly like noisemaker blowouts
like the feet of the wicked witch of the east
I was always envious of the tongue flicker her feet took
the slug slithering into its’ shell
my hands are always sweating pools into a liver shaped pond
and this is where I lie
in the altar of altruism
into the bucket womb of the dark
where I prop myself against the saints I’ve collected
each one with hands clasped
each one never saying the prayers I want to hear
the one that will console me
the one that will **** my pupils dry
I think I hear it
but it’s time to dust the pagan guardians again
it’s time to light the candle
the flame licking my hair
sending it into a sizzle that smells
like a butcher’s shop
my eyes the color of kidney beans splitting
I want the angels to help
to promise me that I won’t be bad again
that the good in me is the good
in those that never get sick during the flu season
I am eternity stuck underneath lamplight
waiting for that bell to toll
to announce the coming of the
moment where I will
more monk than human
more enlightened than domestic cat
more blissful contemplation than damnation