An Echo From a Cave in Which Was Buried a Heretic the Same Day as a Saint


Of an echo from a cave in
which was buried a heretic
the same day as a saint came such
noise as to make silence crave fame.

Opened mouth of a grave some prayed
rumour would spare its fuss-making
ruckus, no sooner had this place
its trust taken hostage by blame,

than blind trust in fate this cavern
demonstrated was in vain. As
news of his entombment doomed when
its truth consumed them, soon chewed up

          was every tongue with movement.
          Few could do without his feud’s touch.


Of bedfellows from a craven
tryst came, when caught, what namelessness
went on to hide those shameless fucks
of his with bishops lust untamed,

about whom none was once given.
Whose disdain, then overtaken
by passion for which they exchanged
religion’s bent reasoning, flamed

hypocrisy’s raging dragon
unchained when threatened by his faith
they claimed he misplaced in making
famous alternatives to love.

          Kisses became treatises men
          studied with bodies he made blush.