Liquor-heavy heaven: let the faithful
congregate on consecrated grounds
i’ll say my prayers to old’ Pete with the buck teeth,
walk through the pearly gates into the
electric glow
of a strobe-light dancefloor
soft, pink phosphorescence laid over the tender
skin to skin, body on body as
the serpent of Lust opens his mouth
and from it: a river of honeyed words slithers
into your ear
The preacher beckons from the pulpit
sings his gospel to a sea of strangers
his words caught you off-guard
the rush of an uppercut to the jaw
then stumble into the mass, where the
body melts together, flesh fused
and blessed by the holy touch–
where the body stretches out,
drawn out: elongated, bent over, then curled inwards,
sooner or later anyways
Find yourself staring into the eyes of who you believe to be your saviour,
drunkenly tell him that
You’re an angel, baby
through and through
and when the sermon comes to an end,
neon faded into the twilight
the body beaten, bitten and bruised
you may not be in it,
but God,
it is in you
By Jack Ciontos