My Communion


I sink
I kneel
I beat my fists upon the ground
and press my cheek against faded carpet.
The cup of my hands fills with whispered pleas.
My knees grind into the floor
blood red and nearly raw
Penitence for a casual sinner.
The offering in ordered rows
is a bitterness on my tongue
not unlike the lash of whips and coarse boards
beneath my nails.
Sing hosanna to a fragile body
anointed with stained glass tattoos
A dutiful vessel
Say mea culpa.
Say amen.

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