Head
bathed in
water.
The crowd
looks on
with joy
and acceptance.
But the
head of
the child,
the child
bathed in
water
is confused.
With a lack
of understanding,
the child
begins to weep
in front of
the crowd.
Every
single
human being
in the crowd
chooses not
to acknowledge
this weeping
of confusion.
For they
find it to be
a common
normality
of baptism.
The lights
are bright,
the ritual
is over
the crowd
applauds.
Yet I contemplate.
Does the crowd
take 2 limbs
of skin and
cells, (which
are connected
to an even
larger body
of cells
and skin
and bones)
and move
them through
the air,
then emit a
sound only
when both
of the limbs
meet each other
in holy matrimony.
No, the question.
The question is,
why does the
crowd clap?
Must they reward
the confused child
for not understanding
the lines
and the curves
that form the
letters,
letters
that form the
name,
a name
of goodness
and of gold,
A name
of power
and of authority.
Jesus Christ!
It’s Jesus Christ.
Does the crowd
clap for Jesus,
or the child?
Hell, what about
both?
Here’s a theory,
maybe the
people in the
pews dressed
in their formal
gowns and
their suits
move their
hands together
to symbolize
the beginning
of the child’s
lifelong relationship
with that
golden man,
spread out upon
that lowercase t.
Every child
must need that
extra man,
that golden
man to
guide them
through the
hardships of
life, because
you know,
the human race
is too stupid
to do anything
alone.
Because God
always has to
know where
his kids are.
So they do
not sin.
You can’t
break the
rules.
Or else
you my
as well be
dead when
you die.
Because when
your sinful life
is over, you
go to hell.
and live
out your
life-after-life
burning.
Yet is this hell
true?
While writing
these words,
I am alive.
I live in
on earth,
in America,
oh God,
America.
The America
that is yours,
God.
You’ve won!
You see, these people
listen to you,
the holy one!
You are our
parent,
our favorite
parent,
our only
parent.
For you are
the reason
for the season.
Yeah!
Merry *******
Christmas.
I’d just like
to thank you
for making me
both rich and
white.
It looks
pretty cloudy
outside. It
might start
raining, raining
Bibles from the
sky.
I hope one
does not hit
me.
I see adults
waiting outside
with their wicker
baskets.
Waiting to grab
as many copies
of the holy
book from
the bookstore
in the sky
called heaven.
So rain! Rain
from the heavens!
Let your children
of earth
use their brains
to eat
the body
and drink the
blood of
Christ.
Pick up the
Bibles that
have fallen,
pick them up
like picking
the vegetables
from a
garden.
Put them in
your wicker
baskets
and take them
take them
to the next
generation.
To the confused
child, freshly
washed like
a vegetable.
Never teach
him to open
his eyes.
So he’ll
never see
that Satan
fell from
the sky
too.
I would consider this my best work.