Something I’m Not Supposed to Say (draft 1)

God
‘holy jumping jesus!
he just… he did…
he just said that!’
God is the lover
of your body and brooks
no rivals

You enrage the Skin-
Giver when you outrage
your skin
‘o my jacked-up jesus!
he’s invoking a jealous deity!
superstitious much?’

When you assault
your temple’s
walls, sully
its entryways,
its outer courts, desecrate
its inner courts,
‘o my dear god, the purity myth!
hasn’t he read any Philip Roth?’
tarnish
the gold, deface
this cherub, that palm,
stack eagle statues
out front and bring
piggy blood into
the
holiest
‘yeesh.’
place—

You spurn and scorn
‘damn right I do!’
the One who dwells between
the cherubim there,
‘dwell on this!’
the smoking flaming Glory
in your blood and
bones and meat

We’ve been warned
‘bloody hell, rabbi, give it a rest.’
not to tell you this, not to claim it—
not by the Holy One, nor his Son,
‘seriously, put a plug in it.’
but by the powers that be,
ABC and 123 and
all the other little
‘piss off.’
leading elementals

But sometimes this bone-fire
‘tosser…’
won’t shut up
‘shut up!’

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(photo by Flannery O’Kafka)