(Restored fragment from The Canterbury Tales . Revised Edition)
He did a bad bad thing...
The blizzard is from God
to make the Land white
and cover our dark sins
til we repent
said the pastor of “His Place”
(no shit, for real. sounds like a strip club)
to the empty church
- the parishioners snow bound in tin cabins
on wheels
He liked the resonance of his voice
not muffled by the bodies
of trailer-trash
that constituted his flock
He continued:
The great white blizzard
(it wasn’t a blizzard . there was no wind)
descends on us like teats
weaning our lustful desires
He dropped 3 more tabs of Oxycontin
10mgs . Lily
washing them down with Communion wine
The blizzard thrusts snow flakes
the size of your grannie’s pie apples
up our anticipating ass-holes
He was inspired by the adulating silence
only his trained oratory
returning to his ears
The blizzard is like the sheet
covering me and the whore of Babylon
as we copulate in Revelation times
The Blizzard is like the cumm
of angelic alter-boys
as they swarm like cupids above me
Lines from ‘Howl” which he had
masturbated to as a child
during its ‘banned in Boston’ trial
spasmed through his head
The blizzard is the wrath of the Christ
snuffing fucking dopers
in the junk-sick morning
The church had begun to shelter
a few late believers
They sat in the oaken pews
drop-jawed more than usual
stunned by what they were hearing
He was oblivious in his reverie
his Rapture had come
he went on and on til he climaxed
.
The pastor was shut up
in a 3rd floor mental ward
proclaimed to be suffering
from sanctimonious insanity
and later convicted of 2 unsolved
sex-crimes that
had long been troublesome
for the County cops.
2.
The Tiny Poets
2.
The Tiny Poets
Groceries and lovers
on your to-do list
likes and dislikes
like a center-fold bio.
He loves these things
He is not thinking
Who can like that..?
