and that led me to this

You entranced.

dripping with wildfire lust on the fir forest

that grows on my scalp.

Intrigue me with stories from the dawn of Man,

Lord and Lady carriages, a resplendent luxury

of your never ending revolutions.

Well, I lead the charge with my guillotine of metaphor...

you just have so many heads, Darling.

I think I lost your number somehow

it must have fallen

into the magnitude of possible tomorrows

I hid in your purse out of boredom.

As though you would ever carry a purse...

Did I confuse you with these begging prophet games?

Spinning stories

of your Jesus Judas Pilate love.

No, really, he betrayed himself

and killed himself

and washed his hands

when he was resurrected.

I watched the whole thing

from your mother's house,

outside Golgotha.

They made us wear masks

because no one had ever mixed

that much good and evil before

and were worried the result might be

a sacramental mushroom cloud

of forgiveness and sin.

I said, "I know a girl who's done this."

They asked me to track you down,

but you never gave me your address

so I could only just point east or west.

Now you know why they make

the sign of the cross

during an air raid.

North. South. West. East. 

They're looking for you.