Hacked into the neural network,
the viral voice of the Accuser, fiat
Make room, sinner.
The silver pieces gleam complacently.
The desert dwellers hunger and my lips are dry.
I watch my own hands try to conjure
bread from stones, strike wine from the rock.
Silver glimmers duplicitously.
The microphone amplifies my soundless cry;
my heart is gripped between my teeth.
Fingertip touches tarnish, silver
blushing at its complicity.
Wild beasts lap up wine like blood
and amble away, satisfied and pacified.
In a draught, the candle
For a heartbeat, all I hear is blood
behind my ears:
Just keep praying.