Saints and snakes (2)

   
   "Saints and snakes (2)"
   
   McKelvy, not doomed by the adversary, that inability to serve Adam (Man) as the Holy Trinity, One God suggested, morphing from the light into night-shade, adorned in scales, vibrating on sinister frequencies--all due to an inability to serve and protect man, causing curvaceous contagion and traumatic toxicity as pride did outshine obedience, wanting to craft further false testimony and the rest, giving the exploding Smurf-like gift of insidious surprise, warping most men into uncouth animals, and now hoping trans-humanism will save his fallen species.
   But McKelvy would have something to say, in utter silence, warped himself, though with the will of weirdness, using his ambiguous gifts as specters to haunt the fallen, and the ivory-gleaming blade forged inviolate, yet to offer sanguine certification of the Son of Man's axiomatic truth of long-suffering, loving it like a mad monk, knowing death belonged to him, igniting the sparkle of life without tentacles pulling downward into the venomous vault of vipers.  
   And he walked the streets of the City of Angels, gone to cosmetic implants, the falsehoods of brace-face, and the lack of loving ugliness, as McKelvy did, knowing:  beauty was with the downtrodden and asymmetrical, not knowing an architect of trickery save the coyote, having eyes to see and ears to hear:  "Ye shall know them by their fruits."
   And with his sniffer, so in tune with the trash, Saint Michael's communicative-blue giving him the gift of knowing, and Saint Gabriel's halo of white, offering words like a wasp's stinging Totem, though he only served the Lord, and those in tune with the fantastic frequency of luscious love.