unorthodox

candle wax is dripping down my cheeks

vigils and sigils and words that don’t

mean anything; the book of isaiah was

carved on the bottoms of bread burnt

like god’s face; ash dissolves on my tongue

st demetrios on easter; spiritual ecstasy 

chewing body dorsal spongey texture

mourning for the body that believed

in christ. christ! tears are wax on faces

are wine bottles with labels are expressions 

slapped on; bathing their bodies in blood

you’re the one who carved the ten commandments 

on loaves of bread and fed them to the fishes

who breathe through their churches of air 

drowning eyes rolling up into their heads 

and flopping belly-up between the pews

you priests look down your hands at

toxic bottles of blood and then bless

the bodies that believed too hard; candles

burn themselves into the sand; bodies

stale and mold and so do their words

etched upon the souls of their expressions

i am kneeling at an alter to corporate

priests feasting on the bodies of my family

my wax wings are melting in on myself 

sacramental bread bodies are broken

burning into bitter ash incense choking me

as i carve this poem on the face of god.

—march 2022, stanford, ca