love from living things

There’s a hunger to your hymn
I’ve taken as gospel,
bible pages blacked out and
christened art.

Graffiti over my heart; you can
take pious out of
the trailer park but
the inner whore is here
to stay.

Even she has her
part to play, a scapegoat in
cosmic designs.

Name of the Father, the Son
and unregistered fucking guns;
forgive us our trespasses
so we can go back to
shooting at everyone who
couldn’t pass for
one of us.

There’s a horror to
that humanism, idiocy in every ounce of
supposed wisdom; world super power of
pussies and cowards trying
to police the

Why sustain a system
of two-party punks using
lives like hockey pucks
in pursuit of
career goals,

hot potato black hole driving up
the price of gold when it’s
only snake oil salesman passing their
own kidney stones off as coin
for empty pots?

(will buy our place in
bread lines for months)

There’s something dodgy about all of
this subtle theology,
nodding in the right places, fucked
in our safe spaces,
trying to reconcile all the two faces no
racist God would touch.

Obscene amounts of blood that form
rivers in his name, though they
amount to
about the same;

the exodus of
love from
living things.

I never imagined it would amount to much else.


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