Blasphemy
by Rachel Lewis
So get this you see I’ve
finished my toilette and become
estranged to the world of the
powdered and puffed and
check the gap in my teeth in the convex of a
vase of dried roses.
Wondring if I will tailor my schedule
Or if I will make the plane
If I can afford a ticket.
When
– between hopeless optimism
and Murphy’s tongue of candy button predictions –
I start to pray.
Some disgusting inner child
No, some drooling inner moron actually
pseudo-recites “Dear God, I hope …”
out of nowhere.
Now it’s certainly Genesistic
to give credit to something from nothing
but
that split second inexplicable
hit me like a golden calf between the eyes.
I could carve you 10 reasons why I stopped praying
then slither away from a
clarion clarity
so blindly assured
and skew my perception with fig leaves and thorns.
When the going gets tough.
The tough start backtracking.
November 1st, 2005 at 11:04 pm
Very clever, a slap in the face of creationism. darkly humorous, witty, and has a sassy ring to it that if performed can really capture an audience’s attention. way to go.
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