Icicle

Nice icicle catches
rainbow sun
a spike to kill with
Bridge 71
Monmouthshire
and Brecon Canal

A wound
from a previous life
weeps, wets my crotch
Maybe I was Jesus once
born to heal the sick

Jesus sells sex
to the impotent
the innocent
the sleepwalkers

The prophet of love
sharpens your snout
on the whetstone
the grind for bread
You buy what
you'll never possess

Just one bomb
A useless old woman
in gum boots
stamps through snow
lays a curse on
the filthy, the sweet

Just the blood
of a lamb
in the wilderness



~ ~ ~




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