All quiet on the Temple Mount.
Split the atom of the fever dream
at age 12; Son of God on the cross
as Golgotha swarms and closes in
like suffocation in sepia tone.
I, the young prophet, at the progenitor death.
Death begets death and the stars keep the tally.

One and one and one and one.
Nucleic time turns on millioned blood.
The holy forces converge and
consecrate our fried nerves in the name of
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.