In the Contemptory of the Decorated Soul

A gutted cathedral
where lovers and fighters meet
pockets storms and each
swims from their pen
drawn together for an all-nighter.

Invigorating forms—each verb curved
unspoken hearts burn, reacting.
Uncalled-upon directors spiritualize
their directionless spines, backing
projects lacking vision.

Crystal-clouded time
slapping them with
the difference they’ll never make
sends them packing to greet
their histories with revision.

A vault of ribs sticking
to its plan survives their
indecision; uncertain surgeons
purging life of its provisions—
hypocrites and heretics bleed unbitten.

In the contemptory
of the decorated soul—
a sacristy lacking satisfactory
control—they’ll sicken the whole scene
with Georgian windows defacing Britain.