Friday 22 November 2013

#4 - Death Brag

Unbelievable saddle bags of gore pummel the cathedral roof,
bursting and drenching the gargoyles.
'This is not a sign, theologically speaking,' the bishop reassures his congregation,
wafting witchy fingers of green gas from the pulpit
and returning to his sermon,

which is about the small Haitian fetish he carries about his throat
on a length of twine, and how it saved his life,
hurling him from an automobile crash while his colleagues
burned in a cage of twisted metal,
slaying his numerous enemies,
singing to him, as he sleeps, harmonising with the rattle in his throat.

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