Against myself, I dream. The lonely moon gazes down.
Mary in the elevator, Simon on the roof,
and who knows where Jesus has gone —
probably starting fires in an empty alleyway,
the beautiful lunatic…
Every day, my friends find new profanities to worship.
Through mouthfuls of twilights
we tell each other we can’t keep breathing.
Still, I lock our windows. The lights stay on.
Most swords are double-edged, anyway,
you say, jaw cutting through the neon air
like a battle cry, an untuned guitar, a ladder to heaven, a hymnal
Across the hall, Judas is jerking off
I think I’m getting sicker
as my teeth strangle another lump of smoke-soaked air
I ask the untilled earth for a secret, any secret.
— When I am gone, who will water the roses above my grave?
Mia Vittimberga, ’26