And for the Overspreading of Abominations He Shall Make it Desolate

Jerusalem black lampshade through which silver froth repulsion  
crinkles untoward the fingers' bone on horizon  
as bumps on the cheek pave nails  
down a bubbling caricature,  
teeth on many congestive hearts.  

For light, no, what is this leather of threads of nubiles' chest  
at unravelment of their prostitution skins,  
still soft to the coarse salt pickling like the pig paw?  
The sanctum of the Tabernacle  
of a Weiser's musty new oblation  
pierced its temporal lobe with quantum entanglement.  
 
"Hiding light under a bushel."  
That's what Yeshua said.  
But people dropped in cracks of stone  
at the peeling of the skirt.  
 
And as a night golem gargled an algae floral sea,  
and the Zohar dusted its pages in early dew frame,  
the crypt unzipped its whorish flesh,  
and ghost eyes stared  
to the one woman who was yet alive  
as the days collapsed into heresy  
and Silence was unleashed from the damned lettered bulb.  
 
Teeth on the hearts of many  
as she is my witness.  
Amen  
to seven years of tribulation.