MY FATHER THE EUCHARIST
The night named me voodoo. Father,
burden. Bonfire said son. Burning,
I blossomed black. I pushed my tongue
into a tulip. (It bloomed) Every petal folding
like lips. A fertile soil where
everything grows. Each pill a soft moon
in my mouth. Each seed a bullet.
I plowed fields wide enough to put horses
down. I swallowed orchards, avenues.
I attracted metal. Recoiled like a gun.
A moment crescendoed and I learned its song.
I became hymn while hymn became me.