by Mark DeCarteret
st julian the hospitaler
befuddled jester:
after disposing w/folks
fall from grace fiddled
st modomnoc
CEO of bee’s
keeps me sworn to more drudgery
amongst His blurred ranks
st valentine
more dime-store martyrs:
whose heart hasn’t been trampled
like some vulture’s perch!
st sigfrid
your nephews’ bodies
often taken to be bread:
death’s metaphor enough
st juliana
we’ve all been swept up
by the tossed cape & sequins:
that “beelzebub drub”
st forkernus of trim
give me heaven’s bell:
its melody rust-deadened,
over hell’s chain-strain
st theotonius
gulped sunshine & wind
your countenance splurged w/pulp:
it’s both feast, absence
