I died when pills
took His words away.
Now He croons red words with
holy snake tongue.
My arm is
muscled with His power,
outstretched to the deaf
who refuse to hear.
No threats, merely punishment:
curb-foot, gutter-foot,
I cleanse His streets,
churches demolished
by a raised forefinger.
My skin burns in joyful pain,
pictures on my heretical walls
writhe and twist.
Watch how the traffic stops for me.
I cross on the red, my holy torch,
wish for the moment
He will murmur His red words,
enter me.
