I.After killing your god, hotbox the gun smoke. Cough out any vestigial prayer.

Remember that spooky shit Ole Boy hissed mid-smite, bullet-plowed, curling away. It’s true. You belong to the fire now.

II.Lose your Bible— book of napkins to fold  so the hungry busy their hands. Stop circling garden gates for scraps when a harvest splits your hips.

III.Your booty a whole altar call— sickle-pitched hallelujah Blessed Queers are born screaming. Become the most honest song they will ever sing (or the worst or both or never mind).

IV.When street preacher rebukes your thighs TV after-school-specials your mouth Adam tweets fuck that nappy-headed ribsplint Snake primes the bite you die inside, say my own my own my own my own.

V.Choir everything. Tenor the roses. Alto the mulch. Mezzo the flies.

Bass your bed, mountain they go tell on.

VI.Disenchant the talismans of gods you love and leave: spit flesh back to wafer, left-swipe eyes you caught and kept, feed them to the cross pyre, blood rewarming.

VII.Remember Genesis— the worlds and little deaths you build with just your breath and hands, silhouettes that singe the walls with new maps to salvation till even the floorboards buck and cry Jesus. Even the windows blush and say amen.