Narcissa and The Exploited 
When I asked the man his name he told me to pray.
Adorned in God skin, 
wrinkled as time itself, 
sagging with the weight of our sins. 
Manufactured wisdom by youth erasure.
How does His body feel in your gut?
His blood sloshing amongst your gums?
Tell me father, what are my sins?
No. Better. What are yours?
Are you not gazing yourself as well?

Look to the sky!
Beg for remission! 
How dare you recognize that you and I are both worth loving! 
That life is worth living!
You wait to sit at the table of long spoons where no one goes hungry.
Singular dish to neighboring mouth, eye to eye,
eyeing the need to feed and feed and feed and feed and feed, 
never speaking between smacking lips, never noticing 
the room is empty or that the table is suspiciously clean. 
But you are fat and you are happy and the Father is strong 
and your humanity is slipping.