paralyzing prophecies sleep in the throats of saints who spun the sun while time 

stood , stood still the dreaded tears of the spiritual have reduced the angels to 

rust who in turn gouged their eyes blind with sharpened halo's.the sky rained down 

smoke on their heads and they fled to hide their shame in the shadows of wings. 

thieves on the thrones had no trouble wishing slumber under plastic crowns as they 

mocked deadly desire. bookshelves of blank pages bibles lined the trophy rooms of 

third class gods who had no history . they were messiahs in no ones eyes , not even 

blinded angelic ones.they begged to hang on homemade crosses and spit at the 

onlookers who bit their tongues behind smiling lips.and they fled to hide their 

shame in the shadows of wings. satisfaction the size of cathedrals blanketed their 

wounds from view and not a word was said because we knew that both the mime and the martyr helped us buy the nails.