A Broken Prayer

how we stand and watch
them pissing
on the face of the fallen Madonna

we look 
at her 
cradling her crucified infant

bleeding from his ankles
into the mouths
of a thousand painted whores

fucking
the pope in his ass
with the alabaster icons

who cares?
not the saints on the pillars
who turn their heads

preferring the silver
of every Judas
sleeping on the street

wringing their broken hands
in despair
shouting

to God
as all the altars
are desecrated

why have 
You 
forsaken us?

aren’t our knees
bruised enough
for You?