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That? Oh, That. They Call That Stigmata

Padre Pio had the stigmata it said so in the holy book he wore bandages like gloves that looked like the kind of gloves Glenn Gould wore when playing the piano that needed tuning when the tuner arrived he said hello. Bandages cover over the disease ridden open wounds full of pus covered with scabs, and there are lanced boils on his leg with drains hanging out there is a smell like powder. The priests wore vestments when not dressed for mass they wear the beretta black shoes and pants and sometimes a skullcap. The nun wore a habit with a big rosary belt, and specialized in celibacy that led to desire that led to masturbation. Grandmother spread moth balls in the closets where blankets and quilts lay folded and she used a funny kind of footstool. The garage had insurance to protect against the dangers of the tires and the lifts but the insurance couldn't stop the stains of blood and oil and water from forming. In the waiting room with the plastic chair and the linoleum floor the customer went to the coffeepot but studiously ignored the magazines. Onto the Church steps fell the sound of bells during funerals weddings and one big baptism, and the sacrifice of blood and wine on a daily basis. Candlewax made by bees sold by the beekeeper came from the beehive. The beekeeper now and then got a sting, wasps flew around too, they eye any lips that eat. No amount of money could clean the oily dirty catface and the gas tank leaked in the bank parking lot under the car within which lay Sullivan and Tara. Pain pinches and pierces, the push and the snip of it end up in a slash, enough to give you a headache or migraine. Hollywood and Bollywood produce movies in the hills and big snappers can splinter a broom handle easy so don't leap to your death from the Hollywood sign that's a stupid thing to do because it looks so small from down here. The holy statue is weeping it’s a miracle—praying hands gather outside, some man with a limp comes and some with sores and some with cancer and all with sin. The draperies hung silken and supple, their golden threads and rings and rods held to the wall with screws, putting up such a thing can make you curse. The St. Jude Store in the great big town has people in it who know what La Quinta means, and holy books, communion dresses, and hosts. Walter whipped Lucas with the strap to keep him in line, the seed and dirt are piled in the back of the truck, on the farm full of cows. Mother ends up in the nuthouse. Lucas' brother is simple, but still sly as a fox in many ways, with his skinny toothy face tall build and his stinking hat-cap. A bloodshot eye in the cat calls for codeine, or cat soap splashing in the syrup, golden. May holy God place you in his tabernacle in heaven may there be a miracle cure, plead and beg until you snap. The Crucifix's corpus is held on with brass nails through its hands and feet, it wears a crown of thorns, is nearly nude, but unaroused. Elevate the monstrance with the golden sunburst holding the body of Christ that the nun said was priceless wagging her tongue in the cool church air. A ciborium sits overflowing, it had been kept in the tabernacle under lock and key but now it will be manhandled by consecrated layclones. A Thurible swung stinking and smoking and burning the coiling incense fumes causing much sneezing and choking. The priest dons his Alb of pure white in the dressing room while saying the appropriate prayer, kissing yes the appropriate kiss, the dressing room is by the vestibule. March foo.

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