Joan of Arc had a dildo named Jesusnmade of wood from the cross of its namesakenshe considered the splinters atonementnand when she came it would fill her with light!nnher body was an ocean full of wreckagenher flesh was a map of hellnthat spilled out the sides of her dressesnthe flabby arms of modern surrenderna smothering mother’s bodynbody like a black holenpulling calories and emotion and her many children to hernshe was childlessnshe was alonenshe found comfort in the biblena gravity like her ownnpromising always to pull her down before she floated into spacen(and space was the place she feared most)nstaring out her window,ndistant planets were cold…nuntil a voice came to her in the nightnshe was sitting in her kitchen it was flooded with lightnand she wandered out into her backyardnwearing nothing but her house dressnand there,nbehind the racist lawn status and the picket fencenshe saw her hedges in flames!nn“speak to me lord” she saidnand the world would never be the samen“speak to me lord” she said…nni killed a queer for christ and didn’t even get a thank you letterni let Jesus take the wheel and woke up in this hospitalnand though i knownhe only did that shit to test my faith… i’m saying–nnothingni’m prayingnabout itni’m asking god to keep the lights on and shrink my tumorsnand keep em from privatizing my job and to REACH those in power!nthose who forsake this nation by not crushing the wicked &nthem who will not burn the world out of their body.nthose who refuse to kneel,nthem who choose the wheelnthose demons walking the earthnbuilding evil empiresnthreatening from outsideni know that satan,nthe stranger,nthe foreign,nthe invadernis the creator of mexican immigrants and al-qaedanand lord i’ll understand if you want the earth to be flooded againnin fact my faith could…nmelt an iceberg…nif you ever need a handnjust deliver me and mine to the promised,nland (x2)nnJoan of Arc had a dildo named “Jesus”,nmade of wood from the cross of it’s namesakenand her orgasms were all omensnwhen she came it would fill her with right!nnand when the light had finally left hernshe lay ruined across her sheetsnher mouth unhinged,nher shape like a victimnmurdered, in a sleep without dreamsnnJoan of Arc was a warrior poet.nand she baptized the world in flame.nand she never stopped to wonder, for even a momentnwhy “Jesus”nnever came.