Pater Noster In
Terra
(for Americans young and old who worship killing)
Imagine. Frigid
contagion.
Flux and reflex of genocide.
Terrible obligation of the dead
to flow down and up mountains.
Improvised carnivals. Illumination.
Internet miseducation. Bent soul.
When words refuse
to serve,
nature aborts the
fetus of a new god.
Bullets, drones, and bombs
give us this day
the upbeat downbeat
jazz as breath.
A sperm of silence.
Tragic priests defy choice.
When words refuse
to serve,
nature aborts the
fetus of a new god.
Blessed insurance
denies us all night
the opera of the blues.
Reason, teeming with pathogens of faith ----
in the name of the thugs,
in the name of the drugs,
in the name of no name ---
makes war as absolutely nothing.
When words refuse to
serve,
nature aborts the
fetus of a new god.
Passion, teaming with languages --
the holy cost of perplexed absence--
has ordained at last with transgendered lemonade
a pimp perfect
oracle. A miracle. Imagine.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr. May 30, 2016/Memorial Day
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