MAGDALENE’S THREE-THOUSANDTH EPIPHANY (THE ECSTASY OF ST. MARY, TWELVE HOURS PAST BLOOD MOON) by Tawni Waters

I saw you on the T.V. today,
shining blue,
a pixillated Jesus.
I wanted to lick your toes.
Your crows feet showed
making your eyes gleam
like suns.  When you danced,
the invisible gun you kept
strapped in your belt rattled.

Nina Simone groaned in the background

as you battled Satan using only
a corkscrew and your teeth.
A python hypnotized the the studio audience.
I watched him jimmy
his slick scales shimmering green,
thinking that if I could slither like that
up your pant leg
and beg your boxers to let me in,
I might get me a drop of some sweet anti-sin
before Lent.

You sang my name.

My sanguine brain
was swallowed whole
by a flock of stars.
Beloved King whose hands
wear gloves of scars and light
you dressed
my naked fingers with Saturn’s rings.
I have never
been able to bleed straight blood
untainted by a hint of silver
since then.

Shining One,

I sprawled flat like grassland
dew-kissed and panting
chanting Egyptian hieroglyphs
under your light all night.

The morning sky purples.

My soft skin burns.

I may die of moonstroke.

 

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