by Calista Middaugh
Someone needs to give me permission
to kill the priest.
He breathes heavily without looking for the air he exhaled
the priest doesn’t trust me
even more than I
his eyes were crafted with no special skill
they were made with no thought
do you think G-D calls him by his own name?
Then we agree.
Anything he doesn’t agree with will come to a halt
to me it’s a dream that feels
like picking apples
off the lowest of branches.
Maybe I’m sorry but
if his flesh has heard what
the numen sounds of
what reason does this man hold
to not have put the music
on a leaflet
so that us sinners
can have a laugh
over the intangible.