My skin is cast in plaster
And the mold is long since broken.
Limestone induction.
Birth by force of will.
The spirit of the long dead,
Set up to dry on the windowsill.

Your costumer, she found me
In a charnel house,
The bones like yellow bells,
That clicker-clacked against each other,
Form in search of shell,
A heart as well, 
She dug 
From underneath the soil
That still clings beneath her nails -
Heart of someone,
She would not say who,
A cast off costume from
Some long forgotten show.

She formed this plaster flesh,
And carved the sigil in
My forehead's plaster skin, 
And whispered in my ear
The only honest word:
The secret name of God.

She swept the floors all still and clean.
She did her best.
This monster-mass of living flesh 
Among a forest of 
For I am Legion,
Cast into the swine,
The swine then trained to stand
Upon hind legs
And speak the tongue of man.

Lord do not keep me here
On cloven, trembling feet.
Oh gods! Release me!
Let me run the grassy grade
To drown my self
At last in the salt-sick sea!

(Image by Javier Flores)


Amanda said...

I'm sorry.

Jason Gignac said...

No need to be, love? Just writing about the New Testament