Poetry

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

The Gold, the Glitz
the all empowering artifice.
The Devils, the Angels,
the Great Cross.

The Blood, the Body
the Pain, the Torment, the Punishment

Massive, encompassing, everlasting, overwhelming
and painted in two simple colors:
Black and White
Right and Wrong
Yes and No

Believe in the Power of the Lord
and you will be saved, my Son.

Believe in the Power of the gold,
of the domed roof stretching to the infinitus heavens.

Believe in the Cross that can see all of your
debased thoughts before they ever
pop into your consciousness.

You are a carrier of Evil,
and there is only one way
through to Salvation and Peace: My Way
The Way of God

Can you see them with their heads bowed,
mumbling my incantations in foreign tongue?

Can you feel their lustful desire of hope and
happiness and security billowing out
and expanding the room with inflated self-worth?

Can you see their pious movements-
the kneeling, the forming of the cross upon the chest, the bowed head-
and know they have given themselves to a life of servitude?

Hear the organ play, my Son.
Hear my call.

Fear me for I am All
and you are but a lost speck of dust searching for a bin to call home.

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Glad to be of Service

Dirty laundry, decaying newspapers,
Chinese take-out boxes, and stained sheets.
Plates stacked under the bed, glasses perched on the nearby table
teetering, waiting to tip and spill and tumble and crunch into the floorboards
“Don’t take them off,” she tells me.
She means my shoes,
and I take her advice.

We slide into bed,
cocoon inside the mess,
and push the trash against the wall.
There’s something poking sharply into my back –
a self-improvement book. “Stupid,” I think.
She takes off her skirt and her blouse and her bra
and drops her panties down past her knees and around the
rainbow painted hiking boots still laced and snug around her little feet.

She smells like cigarettes and magazine perfume and curry, but her lips are soft
and her eyes smile and dance and I can see my own goofy
face staring back: a dirty beard, sunken eyes, greasy hair
and a foolish grin and reasonably straight
whitish-yellow teeth that chatter incessantly
when I’m nervous or when I’m trying
to impress someone.
(They often chatter.)

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