Macerate

Baal scuttles with ten tails Between as many legs as he could carry— Perhaps Thomas poking through the holes And finding resolution beyond the scales And incorporeal pain of the hammered Messiah,

“My dear child, how are you employed?” I knew the voice of the Superior, and I replied, “My father, I was sleeping.” “And I was macerating myself at the foot of the altar for you, my child,—the scourge is red with my blood.” I returned no answer, for I felt the maceration was better merited by the betrayer than the betrayed.