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(P) Apocalyptic Confession | gdfranco

Apocalyptic Confession

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Emerging from the Earth,
Soil clinging to his lips,
He smelt of fecal matter
Instead of apple-pips.

No glow see I in him,
Save a single, grey-blue flush:
Within would pulse puce-hued veins,
Where love would leave no blush.

A chthonic-god he is, my dear;
His flesh and bone like snow.
He’ll come from Hell to ravish me
For sins that all may know. 

Once he was a man, my heart; 
A lover, sturdy and lithe.
My gift to him was virgin’s blood,
His to me a womb alive.

O Father, don’t jest here; not now.
Salvation? All in the mind!
I much prefer the dank and the dark
Of thy most foul behind. 

 Yes—await my Child in Heaven, 
Or wherever thy delusions meet!
I shall guard my Love’s corpse-cock
In a jar of pickled beets. 

As the world falls to pieces,
Akin to thy precious Eden --
I do confess my caprices
But thou canst not see them!

Do thy worst; punish thy Child!
Expel demons of thy puerile fancy:
Lash me, Thrash me, Shun me and Stun me! 
Wish ill on my wicked necromancy!

Yet return I shall: lapping the blood
That spurts betwixt thy milk-teeth:
The only spend thou shalt ever make
For Our New World that slept Beneath. 

© 2020 by Genevieve D. Franco. All rights reserved.

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