Gospel from Sleepwalker by Hourloupe

The gospel of silence hangs in the air
Waiting to be preached

The priest with bandaged hands
Pantomimes it

And it gives itself to him fully
Sculpted and pressed
By the lateral pass and swept
Exclamations of gauze

The priest has been reading the book
The book with pages of steel wool
With its iron covers open
Face down on his lap
He has fallen asleep
And passed his hand up and back
Dreaming of lovers

The gospel of silence curled
In the corner of the room
Where it was late and the fire knew it

It watched the priest
Moan and undulate
And the streaked crimson
Of his fingers mingle
With white powder
Of his ejaculate

It went to him and offered itself
Its teaches a lesson of earthly love
The priest half heard
And forgot

And on Sunday
With bandaged hands conveyed
To a congregation
Of somnambulists
Shuffling over the graves
Of unborn children
Holding logs for the fire
Of streaked red wood

This silence

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