Winter's gray shadows illuminate
bleached pillars of peckered rot
splintered and sundered stumps
Stones ricochet across eddy scum
from empty hands in vacant pews
set on righteous heights.
Below, crowded markets bursting
with meter and matter drown out
the ancient coital lyrics sung by
wigged and painted peers
to celebrate the bruited pyre
lighting puritan nights.
Above my head, sunday crows
mock the burnt and fallen flesh.
Leaden bellies can not digest prey.
Preened white wings beat in raucous tempo
when no flock obeys their call.
The righteous bear such heavy slights.
