This appears in a pre-2010 issue of Down in the Dirt magazine.
You can get saddle-stitched issues that are now longer printed
by requesting a reproduction of the issue for amazon sale
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j. c. and his big brother john the baptist
play chess at the red horse on a rainy saturday
night.
they’ve exchanged their old religion
for the new ways of gold
in a dying nation. sold the souls they found
too expensive to keep.
they buy their drinks by the pitcher.
they stiff the waitress. their bony fingers
crawl across the wasted board
while their eyes crawl out the back of their heads
across the room to the young cunts
strutting their stuff on the floor.
the old whores gone from their minds.
the cathedral is closed and the tree temple
rotting.
they grind their bones. plot the government’s
overthrow by force. withdrawing the peaceful ways
of their earlier antique days. divorced
from the stuff of solemn journeys. the battlefield’s
overflowing
and going down, the blood
something running quicker now.
tired of being forgotten
and tired of the mock rotten apples hurled
in their direction, they curse
the masses of malcontented fucks
who refuse to have their own lives, to live
as they once did and now do, their backs
to the sadsacks of a world gone mad with grief,
anger and frustration heaped upon the helpers
finally burns the backs of the godfearing groupies
of sin.
and the devil laughs at the game. at the pieces
moving
in his direction. the constant erection of his cuckold
penis prodding the pants off mankind’s ass,
withering his woman’s flower, the power of winning
of choosing the grinning chimpanzee for all his
doings
dongs on
breaking the scabby skin of law’s half-naked
commandment,
blessing in boatloads the cleft of her lower chin.
going in, going in...
halfway to paradise, his zenith
eden, his apex
the glad men and women of sinning in silence.
the passive is good, but for what? the plate is
warm, but the food is cold
slop
slow roasted rotting oatmeal for the soul
slop
the degradation of her ditches
filled with dark and lowly
corpses. a copse of trees behind the barren
wasteland.
