And
What if After so Many Words/God Fear America
And
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
I remain knee deep in red-neck Aryan urine
flowing putrid through the bowels and veins of tele-vangelists,
who proclaim Jesus rides shotgun with a rebel flag
hiding guns and ammo in a Chevy pick-up truck
and who have put together an info-mercial
announcing the second coming
will be brought to you by Hamburger Helper.
And
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
I am sinking in the quicksand rhetoric of Christian
politicians,
who have jailed my genitals with censorship litigation
and have torched my NEA award-winning charcoal drawings
of Virgin Mary Barbie in a red bikini, riding a Harley,
whose only crime was coming on to Crucifixion Ken
through the twelve stations of a technological cross
with an LED display that reads "Jesus buys more and
saves."
And
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
and
what if after so many words,
the righteous priest, an artist in his bare time, draws
trust
from his altar boys bleeding, and transforms their sacred
wine
into haunting memories with only a drop of water for
the sacrifice,
while his male order army of ordained disciples
bomb another clinic to rescue unborn lives,
killing more mother goddesses in the process of pa triarchal
explosions,
which sound like screams from thunder up above.
God save America on the evening news
because the curfew is enforced by fear.
