jethro’s daughter: “sklerokardia”

by Allister Nelson

I dreamt I dissected an angel,

and smuggled into the graveyard at five

with a boy who ran stacks at the radio,

on the afternoon I learned how to fly.

I spent all my wishes on small things,

while a cold war was battled on high,

I flew aimless under the slaughter

dreaming as cherubim died.

My demon had sklerokardia-

I asked if it was a social disease

Is soul rot sexually transmitted,

Veneration a venerable disease?

He said that his scars were God-given

And that they would heal with time

And he laughed there under the scalpel

Showing me how his guts shined.

His insides, well, they were beautiful

His outsides even more so

The black filled his chest like a graveyard

Under the lab-light, I watched the rot grow

I sampled his tissue on dishes

Performed counts on cells hidden within

The little black sickles of darkness

Multiplied, cancerous with sin

He fed upon pain and my heartbeat

I gave him what little I had

He devoured my putrefaction-

The black, dead doctor, blood-mad.

And though I dissected the angel

I suppose he was dissecting me

Judging me fit for consumption

He gave me the fruit of the Tree.

Like a lab rat I ran from his dwelling

Back to the bed where I sleep

I woke with these rhymes in my noggin-

Scarred heart. I Sklerokardi.

*Stay tuned for Allister Nelson’s next installment of Jethro’s Daughter next week.