plum plunk-ums
no placid Eden
yet as delicate as cigarette paper
always beautiful
but not without a touch of disaster
like a fetching girl with a milky eye
and a cross around her neck
a wearable god
a tiny, tarnished truth trinket
religion's armor
as ancestral glooming lights judgment
hammers guilt
and implores prayers to be saved
in dystopian lore
for priests' sake in temple prostobulaes
of hanging dark shapes wicked trace
drooping black
bat-like
caped and heaped upon each other
like runged downward chandeliers
of stalactite falling knives
in caves of primal fear