By Pavel Chichikov
There's the serpent crawling in the pews
Hunting birds that fly in through the window,
The eggs of sparrows in the organ pipes
Or mice among the dust balls of the ambo
It's homely here for him, he often comes –
When hunting's slow he coils round by my side
And shares his thoughts by flicking out his tongue
Figured like a leather trombone slide
A black and yellow king snake, only wiser,
He wants to be my spiritual adviser
He says: 'I only come here when I'm hungry,
And also you, why else would someone pray?
The bones are nibbled naked in the crypt,
Every night's a fast on Judgement Day
'Come with me, we'll slither in the aisles
Could be we'll catch a fattened rat or mole –
St. Michael the archangel has one eye
And that one's glass, the other is a hole
'There's no one here, except for you and me,
I told them both when coiling round the tree'
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
