Let her go, I said;
don't remember her perfume or the way
her lips kissed yours
or anything of the sort
that might bring you back to loving her.
Let her go;
don't expect her to follow you home
as much as you look over your shoulder,
that sixth sense telling you
she's there and waiting for your love.
Don't forget me,
or time or anything,
don't forget your medication
while I sit here spitting typos
into a keyboard ignorant and dim.
Sound the trumpet;
send the walls of Jericho tumbling down
a day late.
The heathens did see it coming
and left three days ago, you fools,
you arrogant fools.
He never loved you, no;
well, perhaps at the beginning,
until He saw that we are nothing
but insignificant little things
incapable of love, true love.
You say I don't know It,
that book, that wretched book;
I know enough.
I know enough of preacher games
and so much of
we-are-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket.
Every one of us.
Well, it means nothing except what you want it to mean.
