The poem that appears below, you may notice, is not displayed on a digitized remnant of 40-year-old IBM computer paper. It does not start out being what one would describe as particularly “angry.” I did not write it while working at the World Trade Center, or at any other state office building, between 1982 and 1991. I completed it while sitting on a comfy chair in the sun in Pleasant Valley NY five minutes ago, as American and Israeli bombs and missiles were falling in Iran, Lebanon and Jesus knows where else in the Middle East and the world. Starting out as an exercise in absurdity, it morphs into something of an angry prayer to a deity that I failed long ago to believe in, and who, if He indeed does exist, would have to be possessed of an infinitely dark sense of humor to be standing by on His fluffy cloud watching us make a complete hash of what He or His Dad created. Anyway…
English lesson
Jesus
Choose Jesus
Choosy Jesus
Jesus chooses
Juices
Cheeses
Jesus chooses juices
Jesus chooses cheeses
Jesus chooses juices and cheeses
Choosy Jesus chooses juices
Choosy Jesus chooses cheeses
Choosy Jesus chooses juices
and cheeses
Jesus
Jesus fucking Christ
Jesus fucking Christ on a stick
Here’s a bonus track in the same vein.
Jesus is a myth, I do believe, sadly, perhaps. Perhaps a myth meant to be good... I could spectaculate for days, and I do. I am also a herder of words, and it's part of my godliness... Do you fink Jesus mite bee a word herder, too? I dooooooooo!
But he is also, like most myths, truthy as well. Never underestimate the power of Wordplay.
If you figure out what the fuck the PLAN achoo-ally IS, metaphysically speaking, do let me know... And I'll almost shirley disagree wiff you.
What I have come to blieve, after Lo, these many yearns, is that we just don't get it, so we have to have "faith" in the Good... Praps our small brains cannot hold the re-ality. Butt I do fink it's prolly what my namesake said-- Luv is all you knead.
I mush sound really skeptical, but actually, I have strong faith-- I'm just not sure exactly what, if anything besides that "spirit" we talk about, IS the "reality." Maybe it varies. Maybe it's a combination of ALL of our "spirits." Maybe it's something we can't fathom, so we have to make up stories about what it is. But I donut care, really. How do I keep "the faith"? I go out into Nature. Simple, and as complex, as that. xo xo
Your poetic talents have aged like wine!
...that's been corked.