Poem by Devon Macomb
February 15, 2023
the catherine wheel in the center of town draws the masochists out of their hovels. the penitents, too, who freeze in the booth rally in support of other persuasive technologies. they take turns with pokers and declaim from foxe. now everyone’s talking. how else to keep order when the fasting ends? when the goat rises from the altar and, buttering its thighs, returns to the plate? joints crack like eggs and the spillage leaks from the mouth. stop, says the man on the rack to the cross kissers,
you’re turning me on. why do you want to become a martyr? to finish the job of the poets. that answer won’t get you one foot in the gate. then the archangel michael will slam it on my toes
with his own hand. what an honor! hand me that scourge. a moan from the wheel with too much sin in it. oust him, says a layman. it is time for my suicide. nonsense, cries the multitude. it is time to play the mysterium and topple cathedrals. put down your corkscrews and ready your violins.
About Devon Macomb
Devon Macomb is a 25-year-old laborer who lives with two cats and several bookshelves in a small Mississippi town. He began writing poetry in the fall to impress a man from the big city. It is going well.