by Peggy O’Brien

You’re trapped.  You cannot stop once you begin
Smashing plaster statues.  She crooks a finger.
(And you feared the virgin dead.)  You start again.
Dram after dram.  Basking in Baltic amber.
Ossified resin.  You peer through the heel of a bottle.
A mouth contorts.  There must be sound.  You’re deaf
To all but the insult of that tongue, that spittle.
The concussed room starts checking for its breath.
You’re a battering ram hammering sacred mosaics.
Tesserae like tears of bone scatter all over.
The heavens never the same, the picture puzzle
Of the stars, the runic zodiac, apocalyptic.
Your blood is sticky resin.  Your piss smoky amber.
You’ve finally damned yourself to Hell, Ezekiel.