fragment from a handheld device #8

(on the exquisite tortures

of public art galleries)

please

do not touch

the exhibits

remuneration

oh 3 shades of Christ
6 shades of perdition
i don't even know the numbers
 - are there numbers?
which delineate, propitiate,
and otherwise appease and
placate those whom we fail:
our humans.

oh the 7 veils of Mary
the umpteen Houris
and You, God
yes You;  empty-headed fool
all beard and robe and no
answer
no answer
even to the meekest and most  childish
question

oh by the 12 apostles and why
just 12, or why so many?
i will break my fingers off with counting
give up my my toes
and cast about for more limbs
be they mine or others'
to sacrifice

oh Rosemary oh burning bush
here is my firstborn.  Look:
all that i have, had, will have,

i offer up
to a wisp of sky, a plume of smoke
the scent of fat and flesh and herbs

are we permitted salt?   from any pillar?

these days we call it a pathology
all the counting and numbering
off
by the 10 judges of Hell
i count backwards towards the unreal
the anti-knowable
two, one

then begin again.


here is a step.  Let us
call it
the first.
i wait for the telephone to ring.