Your woman of God has her hand on your breast now and you tell her she is a very nice leopardess. She is the best leopardess of all. Her face is soft and spotted and long. You can see that now. The water washed the cover away. She is the degenerate offspring of an adulterous mating, a lion and a pard. The beasty book says so. She is a crafty animal. And you know this: She will be a leader of her people and she will cast down her enemies to Caïna. You know this.  Your father was a prophet and a degenerate too. He beget sons and daughters and fields of wheat and could predict the weather with corn silk and a divining rod. And you know, for sure, she will lead her people to God because all good prophets are degenerates. You pleasure her and tell her the world will end tomorrow without her because you are a good girl and you know how to pay tribute to your elders. Your father taught you well.

In the center is a woman bent in two, her head, hands and feet frozen in the ice. Her waist and hips raise up and open and all the world lives inside her. Climb her. Crawl through her ass and the shit. Slide into her stomach. Make a tour of her insides: a Wal-Mart hotdog stand, a titty bar, an off-Broadway extravaganza, Starbucks, a summit on the current state of post-structuralist aesthetics, a trendy little brasserie on the West Side of the esophagus, that secret sex club down that Midtown alleyway you thought you had forgotten. Don’t forget the wine bar on Houston. Have a night cap. And make your way down the long strip of her throat where the purveyors of the lost and the regurgitated can get you anything—a young girl, a boy from any poverty. The children are very talented. Choose a young boy and take him to the beast’s mouth. Trade him for a pardon. Then drop from this unholy place and into the clear, clear water where the long altar waits. Wash the shit and the bile from your body. Climb onto the stage where before you a congregation sits. They are the faithful and the American and the valued. Stand as your leopardess raises her hand and your hand in hers as she says to the people, I have been through hell and I have come back and hell is a woman. And the world is a woman’s body gone bad. She is the weight of our sins and corruptions and commercialism. But we are the chosen, brothers and sisters. It is God’s will. Raise up your hands and bow your heads. Pray. God is a merciful God. God will save us. Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. And listen as the congregation answers her, Praise be to Jesus. Jesus is good. Jesus is the merciful savior.