wealth

in the more or less

in early autumn

tiny christs nailed

to tiny crosses

priests with their

hands on fire

drove further out into

the country to where the
vultures spoke of simpler times

where they laughed while they

ripped meat from bone,
screamed MOTHERFUCKER! at
the children sleeping in
shallow ditches and in the
here and now

above and beneath the

simple weight of the sky

walked 3000 miles to the

back of my mind

found wolves

guarding the temple

found my letters to st maria

look

faith is a personal thing,

religion a cancer,
and there has never been a
point in asking any question
where GOD is the answer

there has never

been enough silence

there will never be a grave

deep enough to hold
all the deserving politicians

just need to smile while

you bleed and keep digging