Reblogged from https://masticadoresindia.wordpress.com
Church within an egg
I watch the moulder of your stone
Of the subtle grain that clings together
Disdainful of my changing face.
I even see
Your smoke washed splints of mortar
Laughing into faces.
Stilton memories I achieved
And could not
Stop the wooden green from going rot.
Words I spoke
Whilst sitting buttocks down upon the egg
Withholding my perceptive children
Like I did
I crushed it thinking
It were the Godly given bolster chair
Comfort of my conceit.
Hoopla play your arches
Round my helpless thoughts of demolition
Dung to give it’s place to cleansing water.
Spit with glee
They the dying grain to blood my eye
My thought it turns the hand
Round the chisel’s grasp.
I built you in the lesser times
Subservient was the stone
To my design of
Of the paper and the oh so easy
Pen of righteousness.
Why you hideous now?
And the gargoyle
Split unto the four points
Have not lost an eye or tongue
Whilst the silver
Of my altar laid with blessing
And changed between the Bread and Wine
To mint within the careful hand
Of Mammon’s vestal virgins.