It is the bones.
It is the rattle and crack of what remains
as the caws of the corvids scrape across tar,
crying for flesh; feeding their young.
The young remain
forced into the thousand crosses
of Calvary; bound as the countless
virgins frozen under the hands
that will raise them to whore.
Our nests are thorns dipped in gold.
Old temples crush the new
and call it charity. Images line the walls
of the grave.
Miracles run black over
withered palms; th