Reenactment of Contrition

In the name of his father, his son, and his forfeit lover: He said once that parenthesis don't belong around the mouth. Please cite all content before you shout it out so we might be content with your contending for continence, constantly and consistently reaching for continents far and few between, confident in the teachings he will preach because he knows plagiarizing the thoughts of another breathing being is what con-art is all about. "No doubt your back is a railroad track, and I've been tied down since you robbed me blind." A reading from the book of the blind man, I(eye)zaiah: I have read the freckled verses on your chest like brail, over and over again, a prayer in the dark. "Hail Marriage, full of disgrace, our son is with me. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb--Jesus, you're drunk, and I just want my baby back." He listens to her bang on the door, denies her three times, just like she said he would. The prophecy is foretold, and the rooster crows, slow. His heart tells tales that he will never be able to tear her screams out from under the floor boards. He was brushing his teeth on the toilet seat, barely thirteen. And twenty minutes past bed time. He could feel it coming, like an unanswered prayer in the dark. For years, he ate only of her body and blood, a fervent believer in her graces and majesty, kept holy the day of sabbath when they would jump on the trampoline in the rain. All good things came to being through her. And he loved the way she scratched the back of his knees, amidst his father, and the sun, and the light it brought them. "Does the power of love not propel you?" He had been watching her build her cross from every broken piece of every broken voice, spirit, and glass; an old testament, signed in blood. It was here, years ago, when it was decided she was to be picked at by crows and wretched men, with a thorn in her side, for the world to see, until the day when she would rise again. He was too small then to protect her from them. He is still waiting for her return. "My father, who art in heaven, now that she is gone: All are forever welcome in our house, except for one." (As she was in the beginning) His favorite angel (is now), cast forever down from his sight, Her name carved into the wall of his mind, without end, (forever shall be) a penitent rite: "Forgive me, Lover, for I have sinned. Forgive me, Lover. Forgive me."