The devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour,

by Lisa Marie Basile

it says so in the bible, here I am
divining leaves on the bottoms
of bodies and teacups. I want
to know how it feels to be eaten alive.

Glory to God in the highest!
I remember the words tied to my tongue
in a cherry-stem knot. I spit the songs,
plagued, hacking, tuberculosis of faith,
to this day when God has left me for

I am a naked druid under many moons,
and feel no shame.

My heart condenses desire
like two moths folding into linen,
until I burst.

I am a wet apple-eating machine
and feel no shame.

The hangman appears again,
upside-down. He has a Spanish
face and looks toward the sea.
I envy his ability to understand
things differently, to let those
veins paint his forward.

He wears his mistakes
as the Mediterranean
vast and rough, on his forehead.
I worship only the sea
and feel no shame.