The Holy Ghost is freely pinned as sin is from the Devil amongst the broken back pews of a somnambulant congregation dreaming of the post church pot luck buffet.
Release it to the wild, it flies to heaven, anointing a stained-glass angel peeled from the wall as second.
The angel says, ”You must wrestle me,” I dream of catching the uncatchable, holding that one untouchable thing.
The angel breaks its shoulder to be free of my material hunger to devour the wrong blood, flesh— to the bone
It ascends unsatisfied as an altared Christ cursing the church to contain his blessings in a stone idol and those who all pray open-eyed.
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