Chalk Face

A chalk face
 Of a dead son of god
 Reflects on a blank stare
 Of his dead servants
 Populating this deceived necropolis
 That still thinks it lives
 Let all sons
 Of our inhumane father
 Claim rights for a synthetic chalk face-on
 As ancestors
 Of the black art and worse
 Give-aways for a swine head
 No son of god has missed
 A chance for earthly love
 No son has ever missed a chance
 For love with daughters of Eve
 ... or those of the first wife of Adam
 A chalk face
 Of a dead son of god
 Blushed with pious for taste of blood
 And sweat
 And semen and passion
 Behind the kiss of the one he adorned
 If you'll be his servants
 Then let us celebrate
 The first and the only true
 Christian marriage
 Of a prophet and a prostitute
 No son of god has missed
 A chance for rebellion
 No son has even missed a chance
 For rising against his father
 ... and not refute the gospel of truth to hank
 As reminded of when we are drunk
 Of thick smell of love
 Panting passages of arcane hours
 In our high mass in the dark
 And a choir of latex-nuns
 Exalts to crescendo before
 Languid embrace of dawning revelations
 Three art race of QBL
 And of angels fallen
 And of witchery and sword
 And of Tartarean abodes
 Night, unknown, chaos