joan of arc had a dildo named jesus made of wood from the cross of its namesake she considered the splinters atonement and when she came it would fill her with light her body was an ocean full of wreckage her flesh was a map of hell that spilled out the sides of her dresses the flabby arms of modern surrender a smothering mothers body body like a black hole pulling calories and emotion and her many children to her she was childless she was alone she found comfort in the bible a gravity like her own promising always to pull her down before she floated into space staring out her window distant planets were cold until a voice came to her in the night she was sitting in her kitchen it was flooded with light and she wandered out into her backyard wearing nothing but her house dress and there behind the racist lawn status and the plastic fountain she saw her hedges in flames speak to me lord she said and the world would never be the same speak to me lord she said  i killed a queer for christ and didnt even get a thank you letter i let jesus take the wheel and he drove me off the road and though i know he only did that shit to test my faith i m saying nothing im praying about it im asking god to keep the lights on and shrink my tumors and keep em from privatizing my job and to reach those in power those who forsake this nation by not crushing the wicked them who will not burn the world out of their body those who refuse to kneel them who choose the wheel those demons walking the earth building evil empires threatening from outside i know that satan the stranger the foreign the invader is the creator of mexican immigrants and al qaeda and lord ill understand if you want the earth to be flooded again in fact my faith could melt an iceberg if you ever need a hand just deliver me and mine to the promised land joan of arc had a dildo named jesus made of wood from the cross of its namesake and her orgasms were all omens when she came it would fill her with right and when the light had finally left her she lay ruined across her sheets her mouth unhinged her shape like a victim murdered in a sleep without dreams joan of arc was a warrior poet and she baptized the world in flame and she never stopped to wonder for even a moment why jesus never came