-Free translation-
And as for you, God, –– creator
of Heaven and Earth and Debbie-Ann Gardener,––
I’ve traced myself back to your beginnings
I’ve traced myself back to your beginnings
before that doozie of a Bang, long before stupid
Adam failed at his only chance at a piece-of-ass
(that Eve, she could hang a temptation better'n Lulu)
long before my baptism
longer than the distance
from the act to the act of contrition ––
back before hydrogen.
(that Eve, she could hang a temptation better'n Lulu)
long before my baptism
longer than the distance
from the act to the act of contrition ––
back before hydrogen.
I liked your story, God,
but Priest's a tepid interpreter
who stunk at playground basketball.
why play when you play like that?
didn’t he know something was amiss
when he missed the rim by 3 feet
from the free-throw line?
I hear tell of a second year Priest
placed way down south, South Main Street at Saint Anne’s Cathie
placed way down south, South Main Street at Saint Anne’s Cathie
they say is lights-out from thirty feet!
I was there at your birth, God.
I was there when we were committed to killing you. –– you said:
"et tu? William, Gerry, Bobby, and Russell.
et tu? Cynthia, Allen, Tommy, Louie, Shirley and Henry.
et tu? Betsy, Susan, Jeanie and Nancy!
et tu? Debbie-Ann Gardner and all the angels and saints"!–– no,
"et tu? William, Gerry, Bobby, and Russell.
et tu? Cynthia, Allen, Tommy, Louie, Shirley and Henry.
et tu? Betsy, Susan, Jeanie and Nancy!
et tu? Debbie-Ann Gardner and all the angels and saints"!–– no,
Priest killed you, God.
something chosen over your church on early Sunday mornings
something chosen over your church on early Sunday mornings
and it wasn't a Time magazine cover, God.
‘twas the short-order cook , the slick-
handed grill-man at Sammy's Diner on Pleasant Street,
handed grill-man at Sammy's Diner on Pleasant Street,
long gone and unrepentant, killed you.–– Basta!
'twas the new Sunday morning call; the blotting stain of Priest,
an execution by the oily crackle of a busy fryolator,–– by eggs
over easy, over sausage links and hash-brown potatoes killed you,–– hung
by the withered hand by dawn's early light until you were dead! Basta!
an execution by the oily crackle of a busy fryolator,–– by eggs
over easy, over sausage links and hash-brown potatoes killed you,–– hung
by the withered hand by dawn's early light until you were dead! Basta!
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