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