Dogma

Dogma

They say hellfire hungers
for fuel, for those who will not follow.
So cremate my breathing body.
Stir the ashes into a soup
served up to the faithful
in soft, felted footsteps
of purple and tangerine.
I will raise a fist, flip a finger.
I want to stick in their throats
because I am too slick to swallow,
because their belief is blinding
me with honey smiles
and hands laid in numinous touch.
Burn away my body
and make my breath
an eternal flame
of unbelief.