Evidence I spent Lourdes trip money accrued from our Lenten fete
On two fire-breathing hooers, they, reputedly, flew down from Glasgow
For a weekend of beer and blow
They write that I wrote to an agency describing myself as a middle-aged priest looking to get back into his mojo
Allegedly I wanted two girls who’d go up and down like a pogo stick on my long-disused prick.
They say I was creased on Communion Wine
Vine of Christ which is his divine blood
Licensed to be called part of him
They say I recite the nicene creed backwards to glean answers to dark mysteries
That I was spied nude in the wood thwacking the air with a thyrsus, and had written odes inside my bible to Goddess Isis to whom I am, reportedly, a devout disciple.
Despising rats who spite me and prize my dispossession
Douring of my disposition through their meddling intercession
They say I employ glamours and am a mentalist who twists the minds of men and transforms matter to suit my ends
I am too well suited for a man of the cloth, j’accuse, they would have me noosed
They cast hex-like aspersions in my direction
Say that I infect the church ranks with my foulness
That I increase sinning in their midst, that I allow men to exercise their darkest parts
That I inject a propensity for recalcitrance among gentled animals in habits who keep routine habits
They say my predilections are devilsent addictions, their strictures fractured
Tinctures and alchemical texts in my room, they swear that I exegese and expound on a black rival bible
They swear that upon my arrival trailing doves died and spiralled down to clutter the base of the monastery spire
Tenfold increase in improper desire, twentyfold increase of instances of lying, a week only and they say I am plying wiles
I have come in from the wild and find myself under trial, they lied that I am in thrall to false Gods, accusations I vehemently deny
My soul, I cry before the jury, is a vehicle for the divine, a brazier for the animating fire inside
They call me a twisted liar, a pig of the byre who rose somehow to stand as a man does, a pirate of sordid rank, a shambling avanc amongst his holy ranks
Among elegant angels whom eagles mimic twisted Ephialtes, he is there among trees
Hidden by wood, his rotten bark and Saturnian rings malingering things which if let linger bring about hedning wildness in their long-tended mildness
Blasphemous vestments hang amongst my vests
They examine me toe to tip, shave hair from my chest in search of triplet sixes
Reports of my sex preferences sicken prudes pale in their pulpits, sexless prelates make pronouncements
Call me outsider, hidden redcap shriner, scryer, diviner and unkinder words
They accuse me of leaching tenderness from men, of teaching occultism to them
They say when the village whelks went missing, I was spied walking then
They say at fullmoons I meet One elk-antlered who came shambling from the wild fen
Ecstatics and eccentrics in elastic poses reposed as Gods might, spastic wristed and medicinally elixir, in need of exorcism fisting signature-littered gaol walls
I wear Italian leather boots, ill-fitting a church accused of abuses among them excessiveness
They shine beside the dull brogues of my brothers, whose dun robes are like those the Dunedein wore in Lord of the Rings, and keep my dog collar loose
I have used the monstrance from monstrous, abominable things.
I heard one woman with a one-toothed mouth and a voice made for adjusting slave temperaments accuse me of intemperance, ill-temper, indelicacy, coarseness
A frequenter of whore’s nests, a breast-obsessed father unfit for vestments or sacred office
Infernally influenced this sheol-shot hateling
Crow black jacket and slacks, his talk smacks of blasphemous traps, he is an immoderate Ahab; at all costs, his crew are fodder.
Alchemisland 
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