3

winds come, a change,
and men with their crimson cheeks
chuckle with their bellies full

some dogs starve with flea infested mange
and never see past garbage can peeks
losing their gender in pools of drool
***
The preacher drew upon the acts
but his words dulled the fire burning on my tongue
where's the interpretation that Luke promised me
wait, it's with the man who sits scared on the pew
twiddling his thumbs refusing to do.

self righteous bastard looking crisp, clean, fresh alabaster staining his palms
but this is not my Jesus
then why do they bow
other than to make men woo and wow
the show, the show, the show must go on
so why do we wonder why faith is all gone
***
the pool is blue with streams of dull light
and with transparent tentacles they swim in the night
to the back, to the front
with wings of a butterfly and the breadth of the breast
their silhouettes cast shadows unlike the rest