Float, don't Pray

I found a piece of Jesus just inside my lip there, yesterday;

A waferbit- a piece, I say-

And crushed it cold and gummy gainst those pincered arcs we call

Tha Teeth.

I wondered what He'd think- our Savior-

does He think?

Bout getting double-gested (in the throes of gums infested)

from a cannibal's old ceremony

Wine and robe and Sanctiphony

Throbbing blood into our lovestarved gullets.

Parachute ring (pull it)

and we'll all float happy down to let this treetoed sandalsniffer's crown

Forgive us. 

But thats life, right? The way to spiritual release is peace within one's self-

Enough help.

I never told Him he could eat My deeds and evils.

What weakwilled peoples crave Messiah, beat the poor, anoint pariahs,

when the strength to make it through to where your good heart speaks for You is buried underneath a life of shame and fear and middling queer old fairytales?

Of epic trails through little kingdoms.

How the FUCK does the religious right keep rising up,

like illborn gas in bathtub water?

HOW THE FUCK TO RAISE ONE'S DAUGHTER?

When I can't make it home without Your proselytizing bone there-

sneaking up my leg to puncture home?

Assault on my spirituality- This Living God Called GOODNESS-

Gracious!

I must be naive.