In the end my brother oh my sister
I must say sorry for such hopeful hopelessness
That I centered upon such fearful bliss
Reading my bible like an opened blister
How do you live such hospitalized hospitality?
How do you give your ear to the silent cry?
How do you praise with your perpetual why?
O Lord spit me out toss my lukewarm body in the drink
Maybe then I’ll listen lingering on your story like a shrink
Let me sing the slave chorus one more time.
Mourning prayers in Syria
Wailing wall cries for some pipelined Syberia
Object-cathedrals toiling time in manufacturing
And the clogged artery of a withering Queen’s
Way more than we bargained for
Way more than weary hearts will store
Way more than earthly bodies will whore
Out with Isis videos and car-bomb beacons
A billowing porneia consumed by noonday demons
Industrial ooze in our food and our water
And the incandescent imperial eyeing the slaughter
Where “I” am who never knows and
“I” where nobody’s chosen
And “I” we grasp after with our guilt offering
Before the statue “I” erected in my home
Pretending to care for dying creatures to atone
With the idol consecrated the bloody sacred bull
The filthy rut-ready tool of desecration holy, holy, holy
Mass-transportation of some undying eucharist and our
Fucking fornication facing the face Judas kissed.
I am.

Sailor

John Kirstein 2

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