Sinful wretch, me
My mother’s ire
Fetch me a priest.
For vile arm frisk me
I must be dipped
Soap these lips
Saying sin only.
Drinking fistfuls of lustrating water
Wretch mocked most sinful
A tutting priest in garb austere
Gleaming bowl brings from piscina.
Dripping, lifted from the graven situla
Argent aspergil, handle fresh cut hyssop
Beads deck its mace pate, he slakes me
On my brow lined like a trench war
A votive lake estates, snaking hastily
In holy estuary downcheek, chin-streaking
Feeding my vein’s scree to the sacrarium
Flooding upon the grate.
Alchemisland 
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