to help populate
the church of your
So why is it,
right now, of late
your mouthpieces become so irate
when we come together to copulate?
Ecumenical or ephemeral,
we rise to meet the most venerable
body of all that is edible.
Wine and blood together
I believe transubstantiate.
I’ve swallowed that whole
whilst you fellate
the only church I feel forsakes.
Do those vestments promote easy access?
I’m willing to confess.
I’m on my knees,
teasing a moaning oratory
from a holy, hairy trinity.
That slippery sea of Galilee.
Punish me oh king of kings!
Lead me by my nipple rings.
Forbid to do all those things,
neutered by your apron strings.
Blessed are those who acquiesce.
My servant serpent nods greedily 'Yes!'
As it slips along the Eden earth
toward the meek that shall inherit its girth.
The apple hangs there out of reach.
A temptation to avoid you teach.
Well I’m more of the aesthetic type
so why not pluck the fucker whilst it’s ripe?
All the while my holy spirit seeks
some kind of prophesied epiphany
in the sacred crimson holy of holies.
So now for all your waking dead,
in the heart or in the head,
as my mother or the big man always said,
‘God helps those who help themselves.’
So sod the church, let’s go to bed.