Jesusland

The young stallion feasts

He feasts, how he feasts

Look at his darkened face

The blood of pious fifty-something men

Served to him on a plate

While the libraries recount

Holes in their holy books

During the growth season of leeches

Fire will purify them both

Come on, burn it all down

And swear a fiery oath,

Stallion of contempt

Swear on dried ink, you,

Destroyer of worlds

Until the word 

That is given

Is hung 

by the neck

Like a Christ 

on rotting wood

Or wet cardboard

Ilford HP5. Basilica Sainte-Anne de Beaupre. Photo by me.