Will Kemp looks through the telescope.
“Can’t see him.”
Pope Clement the 8th looks dismayed as he sips his black coffee.
“Are you pointing it in the right direction?”
At this point Will Kemp takes the instrument off its stand and shoves it up the Popes asshole.
I see it! The shepard is crossing the threshold!
The fisherman ring stretches to a new vista of Apotheosis.
Ultimate reality in its totality.
The pearly gates fling wide with a forceful ejaculated triumph.
So strong the push, Pearly droplets fall into the ocean of swine below.
Hallelujah sings the angelic chorus strapped to their swings.
Michael's flaming sword, be tempered by venus froth.
The great fool Will has taken the measure of man. Probing his depth and has found him wanting more.
He turns to the pope “No cap”
The papabile all defrock.
The cock crows.
Logos grows.