the papal playdates and prada shoes

“hon, just remember the lord ain’t gonna give you nothin you can’t handle!”

an interesting philosophy

something to snuggle up with by the fireplace

covered in soft cashmere

hair combed

teeth whitened

smelling of gardenias

this theory

this manner of determining how much shit one person can endure

a choir singing exemptions for social responsibility

a sweet honey of apathy

“i will be praying for you”

“it’s just a test of faith”

“the glory of god on high”

lighting candles

kneeling

rubbing rosary beads

until fingertips blister

acceptable incantations in ritual absorbed

consumed and metabolized

“i believe in god, the father”

“full of grace”

“hail, mary, the lord is with thee”

blessed martyrs

blah the poor

friday’s fish and sunday’s hangover

the embodiment of god’s grace

wearing rings of gold and chunks of teeth

the invisible palms of the omnipotent throwing humanity under the bus

the new ra-horakhty

living suspended

in the sky of the western horizon

refusing to mingle with the commoners

above, aloof and standoffish

hosting the dinner party but refusing to welcome the guests at the door

only coming down to kick ’em in the ass on the way out

with a wink and nod

big brass bands

wide staircases of marble

walls dripping scarlet velvet

not really the place for street rats and gutter trash

squatters without water

those that can remind those that can’t

sitting above it all sipping cognac

those of us not engulfed in holy flames

meager beggars at the door of heaven’s mansion

scraping

bleeding

fucking

anyway to get from monday to tuesday

in a somewhat unscathed fashion

walking almost whole into alleys

desperation is the best friend

of those who sleep in puddles

the rank mildew of humanity

in secret places

holding their breath

emerging from sewers

the underground penthouses of the rotting

streets filling with junkies and whores and junkie-whores line dancing

doing the downtown shuffle

eyes deep and hallow bones protruding

knees scraped and bruised

the thick aroma of cock on exhalation

we don’t have no good times

there is nothing sacred going on here

the price of salvation rising with property taxes and suburban homes

your prayers don’t buy dinner

your faith is not tender we take

the sacrament, body and blood, a full meal for the starving

your righteous indignation and arrogance is not needed

we don’t need your gospels

poetry of psalms can’t keep us warm

hosanna who has come in the name of the lord has dodged and ducked

the masterful playwrite and kid are taking off leaving the bill unpaid

as you slip into your car and lock your door

fearing god’s blessed

the book of your truth and hope

your mythology

gives no exception for the image created

the troll and the angel captured and melted together in a symphony

the art of life you turn away from

the purulent abscess

the wretched

those oozing on the corners with cups and signs

easily overlooked

the image of god forgotten and hidden

the christ with a needle in his arm

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