Acts

To piss on an electric fence,
That was the question.
O friend with a switchblade,
Chum with a stun gun
To threaten the pockets of his coat,
Would you rather play truth or dare?

It was a single wire lit by the moon
With insulators like gothic spires
Singing into the predawn horizon
In a field empty of its sheep;
A line kept open to call some god collect

With a shocking secret to confess.
We were only the twelve
Apostles who snuck out of town
And rode our bikes into the mist

To whisper about deflowered virgins,
Drink beer as dark as blood
In a chalice at midnight mass,
Explore some catacombs,

Climb a water tower to the heavens.
And now this final act,
Devotion to ascesis, the laying of hands
To make a chain gang,
All of us together in the mystery ahead,
And by fear of god completing the circuit.