SPIRIT

I pardon the fractured speech ghost to my conscience,
The diabolic trinity, invention pseudo to the rock underneath raw guts,
Swelling like the optimism of a catholic priest,
Quietly lay like barren soils whose tongue has had no taste of water.

Scent of saints sizzling the soft wooden hearts of men standing,
To believe or be deceived, the faithless dwarf making pilgrimage to a god dead,
The lamp or goat? blood worthy to redeem all sightless souls to him!
Alas! that men mortal are raised to sit among gods.

I smell male domination and wonder if spirits bear a given sex
I have dead dreams of women becoming Popes, Cardinals and Bishops,
Then i hear the fool asking what the sex of God is
I pause....
I listen.....
I watch....

In silence there is but an answer,
It is the spirit talking to i.