The Last Supper
By Brian Looney
Inside a tomb, darkness pierced by quivering torchlight
Creaking jaws crunch in purifying zest.
Veined hands clasped in prayer
Knuckles white, fighting nauseous stomachs
Fighting Satan's dreadful onslaught.
The temptations of the flesh:
The overpowering urge to retch.
Five holes ooze thickly.
Divine nectar drips into gaping mouths.
It electrifies the soul, it flushes out sin.
When it congeals, fire sets it flowing again.
Flat teeth click against a stripped femur.
By God's Bones! Nothing will be left to rot!
Inside awaits the life-giving marrow.
The robed devout dig deep.
Suckling, slurping from a fracture,
The puppy tongues lapping, savoring the Hereafter.
The bloodless form quickly pales.
Generous faucets taper, substance dwindles.
Lusty fingers squeeze out the last few drops.
Unquenchable thirst is their reward.
Away they fly to spread their thirst
To drive the sleeping masses mad.
The naked wan thing remains.
The glassy vacant eyes inflamed.
The lifeless skeletal face smirks.
The picked, fleshless hunk creaks upright.
Hanging organs slosh to the ground.
A visceral tidal wave whooshes in the dark.
Resurrected, the thing escapes into the black.
Off in the distance
A Pagan city burns.
Fires dance
To the tune
Of wailing babies.
No comments:
Post a Comment