................The Agnostication Of The Pope...Part Ll Poem by elysabeth faslund

I do not reek of olives, salt, as these hallowed halls...
dust-sticky silk, furred robes. What sanctity those?
Loin cloth, sweat, blood, not allowed. Haunted palace.
I sit, walk, on the dead. Worship the dead. Dead memory.
To worship the living is mortal sin.
Contradictions...heart burn. Afflicted holiness.

Which statue sees me as mortal...what fresco?
What cardinal is without agenda-dilated eyes,
Kissing my ring with greasy, delicacied lips...
No. Again, no. Bring food of the poor to me.
Pheasant cantata domine? Better cardinals
Dine on mockingbirds...

My God, my Father! Why canopied, luxury penance?
What sin so appealed to you?

Lazarus opened the vault door. In walking in, suicide
Gold-blinded me...an Aztec statue in my arms...
Child born of a virgin. 'Universality, Pope. Flood,
Thorn crown. Poor, rich...what matter all this? Here,
The denied scrolls of Nicea. I never died to your hell.'

Father, womens' laughter in this haunted palace...has
The time come for resurrection of the 'Grove'?
Did Mary laugh into vengeful ears...the price of patriarchs?
Heresy truth. Truth heretical. Merger reality.

I stand on Peter's rock. A tic bites, burrows...
Christian, get to confession.
Pagan, heaven waits.