Christ dealer / Bread of life designer drug
Here comes Christ
body and all
I eat
and suck him
and He, melts on my tongue
tasting like dust
like third-rate rusk
from a Salvation Army parcel.
Then He disappears
miraculously
without bitemarks
O, O, O!
me don’wannabe no cannibal no!
cannibals are bad you see
very, very bad indeed
they don’t believe in Christ
don’t believe in anything
or so I think
but I do, and I stare
at the choirgirls and altar boys
and the cross-vault above
but my thoughts are never sexless
little pagan girls dancing around
throwing hexes
their perfection is eternal
and I wonder what it would be like
to eat them
but I’m no cannibal no
I’m only twelve
with an erection, stiff as a walking stick
yes, my posture shows my reverence
sitting up straight in the nave with both feet on the floor
and the rest of the congregation
all the good people
and the solitary believers
who no one has ever seen before
or will ever after
and Christ Almighty passes
my mouth and slips
down my throat He goes
and even further
down into my stomach
and soon enough He’ll rise
down the drainpipe of my intestines
descend and then
Christ Almighty out! He goes
resurrected through the backdoor
and I pray that some of Him will stick to me
smiling as I leer
at the church girls and the choirboys
and I feel quite pleased
with myself not the least
that I didn’t bite Him
that I’m not a cannibal
because cannibals are bad people
but not me
/// Autumn 023 ///