Blasphemy

by Gary Beck

The thorn crown,
unsummoned,
fell on a stone head
desireless.
And run as far as least bright star...
Look! Look!
The pilgrims come,
and beggars strip their bones
and take a relic to the American embassy.
Exposed,
the bones are licked by steaming hookahs
in the next life a pair of dice
falling like ivory objects
from a giant hand of myth.


Copyright © 2017 by Gary Beck

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