Thursday, June 11, 2009


your saints taunt me—
spit at me in the face,
they mock me;
them with their stern faces
carved in stone

i do their tap dance
tap tap tap
to implore them
tap tap tap
to spare me from such hatred
tap tap tap
oozing from your eyes

tap tap tap

it soars with my grief
as you mix them, croaking
with diabolical devotion--
bloated frogs
swimming on your cauldron

tap tap tap

and must you laugh
you hag, you witch
your big ugly laugh
as you drown me down
your wicked brew?

tap tap tap

and oh, those grimy things
you spit; the muck
that cake your lips,
from the putrid words
they feed you--
you really take from them,
don’t you—

your saints

carved in stone

tap tap tap

spitting dead rats
and sewage goodies,
by way of your religion

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