my body is a place of worship regularly desecrated, a basket of ripe fruit circled by the starving, a lamb in the woods smelled by the wolves, built to sacrifice to eat to devour until there is nothing left but bones lay me on the altar as abraham did to isaac tell me this is gods work that the knife you brought is heavy with the desires of your creator who is this to satisfy? is your blood hot as you pray would you look in my eyes, or at the sky when the moment arrives, who is to blame? my father, on earth my father, in heaven my lover, hands around my throat so he may control my life and death and play both neither answer my cries nor feed me when hungry but i must be grateful because they love me so much that they’ll punish my sins and correct my foolish mistakes as though they are an extension of their own as i am an extension of them grateful even in death for the...