Slither In

Callous fingers –
shard nails bite blood
from my heel.

My Lord, my breaking:
I sleep on nails and coins,
pennies saved for alms.

In my fever-sleep, He comes
clothed in penance and sin
lips like Sheol taste my wound.

Thus is the dance of worship:
I longing, cleft from his fiery rib –
my place is circling Satan’s heart.

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