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Isn’t it Rich

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“Isn’t it rich sending in the clowns”
to a cathedral of haunted ghosts
breaking bread with the host
in slow tongue catching hums

through ribcages of the dead
wading through ink of shellfish
chewing psalms

come twilight, when shadows preach
drawn by the moon’s cold cyclops
from the book of Odyessy

biting into the hand of god
where the phantoms came to drink
thinking it was an apple

in a cathedral of haunted ghosts
of fingers tracing geometry
realizing it was the throat…

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