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A.N. My first attempt at slam poety
I’m standing between Jesus and the preacher on the block
a mystic for his flock who fan and faint,
he’ll conjure a Saint before the cash rolls in, and
what’s your sin? You cheating too, baby?
I might crash the gate, amp’d for the good fight
or jump into the lime-light for a perfect photo op
now look who is ‘hot’ – and that other word, ‘amazing’
like sheep, all grazing on the slippery slope, baby
Come on, push past the standing line of sludge
you be the judge; I look so ‘fine’ on my page
it’s all the rage, and so, ‘I’m so not gay’ – just
what we say when we got nuthin, baby
Deep tissue creeper check my 6 with a periscope
that’s no dope; dude, he saw the whole show now
that company cow won’t warm no heart cockles
like shock therapy will – junk food for the soul, baby
Dream big my little squeeze, keep it alive and
pray for the bees; fill the sink with bleach
then hit your knees and stir the hive. Got no bitch
with the animals, they been around too, baby
Don’t squat on my parade with your Kona dark roast
hear them boast of the flavor and worship every stain
keeps them sheltered from the rain and the light of day
just agree to what the promo-men say, baby
We just getting old, been on that road so long
different axe, same song; the one nobody believes
until Jesus and that thumper with the shining teeth
shades the door, he don’t hold no light baby, not for me.
Because We Believe! We Must Believe! Halleluiah!
and put it to ya! See you on Sunday right after we sing
throw the dogs in the ring and let them slaughter for a
bet and a dirty dollar, baby, easy money spends fast.
We could build a church, or a new casino, pray for our souls
and a nine spot Kino while the weather channel hums
It’s too hot in the valley, too dry out west, too dirty
low down to wait for the rest, baby.
------
The worst thing in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.
- E. W. Howe
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