Attempt to Join Sex and Death

The hung man's blur

is his presence

there

a belt dangling

his last thoughts

repeating infinitely.

Christ's eyes glow white.

His neck and sacred

prick pop hot

like Saint Theresa's

scorching ecstasy.

On a dead man's mattress

I sit up

grieve for us both

who through vicarious sight

have forfeited meaning

for visions.