Low and below, time bent and catered for, the hole of night; again, the scarred flesh//
of Rita and Amanda, lovingly yours and stupidly waiting for Him to come.
God created sea monsters, they said and tingled; their hymens still intact.
Can you draw him with a fishhook? Press down his tongue with a cord?
Love your brothers and sisters, love them forever until Kingdom comes
and no more beach house in Delaware when the light of dawn shines on the horror,
horseshoe crab hordes pave the way for the coming of the Leviathan
* * *
Naked in the open daylight I stumbled upon the old poet; he was climbing out of a taxi//
Sir, I just heard you on the radio, I said. He gave me a sad, cold look, the old poet;
when he was young he shouted parricide
I have to kill you, sir; his moribund inventions, scripture for America's housewives,//
verse with discount coupons; a big editorial success
Son, I've been dead for a long time now
He disappeared in the early autumn fog
The old poet
* * *
God created the great sea monsters and iPods, lentils, guinea pigs, spiders, not seven but a hundred plagues; the cancer//
His wrath became a mere joke, He watches Monday Night Football while we crack the code, and He laughs since there is no code; there is no code//
Let those curse it who curse the day, who are prepared to rouse Leviathan
Let the cities fall apart, let the trains derail; let them eat a thousand Wal-Marts
like fiery locusts after their 3G iPhones,//
let them feast again and eat their children for desert, because their instincts shall not deprive them from fornication,//
let them strip these fields clear until they can scrape the bones;
let them curse, let them know you can't draw him with a fishhook,
and let them curse again while I lay myself to rest in your burning cathedral
david weinglas (Montevideo, MN, 1978)
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