Judas In Confess

Have gone through the great lengths of sacraments. Meeting Christ’s sunburnt skin pinned on a cross roughly-hewn coupled with Pre Hispanic syllabic script cushioned onto its north edge. (his body a graffiti of throes tie-dyed in blood-flecked sweat thereon) On the highway, bound northeast towards Dusk Boulevard, have recounted Mary’s chained beads-slash-companions rolled between fingertips roundabout her wrists. (her virginity seeps thereunder) I have psalms and odes to propel me all-throughout the free-flowing of mid-daydreams' split-endedness whose crazed reveries sprout from midnightlymares' common civility. Christ. Mary. Psalms and odes. Yet my faith abandons its strength. (for good) I lay back now, Let me rest.