Un-churched

To find a quiet lonely place

A place to be mad unseen

Perhaps a small stone church

In an impossibly wide desert

Where no-one would care or dare

I could writhe naked and unseen

On the alter

Masturbating to raptures and sacred hymns

I could scrawl my profanity in excreta

Upon the pews and walls

Piss on the missals

And bleed into the baptism font

I’d sit spent against the cold of Peter’s rock

And rhythmically bang my head in prayer

Until the amen.