Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray, I pray

I pray to sheep

If I should die

Before I wake

It’s all my fault

Forsake, forsake

In spite of consecration

We’re screwed



To you

Like the blood on the shroud

And yet we’re foretold

As equally yoked

Contractually obligated

To confess our inevitable sins against

The violent contrasts

Of Mother, Father

Son and unholy Ghosts

Whose dissatisfied souls growl

From the belly of the baptismal font

Plunged like an egg

Into the pot of boiling water

Re-emerging from each little death

To be painted and placed on display

Punished for the prizes

awarded to slut babies

Because your existence has been an insult

From the beginning

Crowned by the ass you will make of yourself

Pleading at his feet

For all glory and thanks be


Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray, I pray

I pray to seek



Apparently it’s lent and I’m a recovering catholic….so, art and poetry.

2 thoughts on “Milagro

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