................The Agnostication Of The Pope...Part L Poem by elysabeth faslund

Anaphalactic shock. Breathe,
though throat is closed to air.

Get thee hence from this
confessional...be gone with your
repentance of murder. I've heard
your boring tale from too many.
All the same, all have a reason,
All have blood in their eyes, on hands.

You had no Gethsemeni.

Why spare beautiful doves,
why pet your beloved animal,
then stalk shadows, waiting...
Father...what have you done,
what binds me to robes, robes
of pitiful, believe-if-you-will,
salvation...

What incense to cleanse?

Cardinals, you have too many
children, though you are children
of God. Beaded, hooded eyes.
Bring the gray smoke. Do not
anoint me, rite me, prayer me.
Take the confessional, open
its door to hear...mockery.

I am my own Judas.