iris acht
Bluelighter
This poem is an attempt at a synthesis of the style and structure of TS Eliot's The Hollow Men with the stark vulgarity of Allen Ginsberg. It also somewhat tries to echo the content of Eliot's The Hippopotamus. It's a work in progress.
Gloria Patri
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
I.
Whirlwind delicious confusion
Light green aftertaste just might
Cleanse a strange man’s seed
From your lush harlot palate
You live & breathe sin, but
Only dime-store sin, of the
Gym-shoe-boys variety
None profound: the sin executed
On scabby knees
In a white satin shift.
Open wide
And receive the Eucharist.
II.
All of those Medici popes were unable
To slake your thirst for salvation
They indulged you, world without end
But still you could not be saved.
You accepted the Sacraments, no Lutheran
Were you. And seven Cardinals & seven Bishops
Took such carnal liberties with your body
You were christened a whore and confirmed true
By red-faced clergymen, one by one
Two by two.
III.
And did you wake one morning
Hungry & hurting & heartbroken
Holes in your hands instead of your heart?
And didn’t you don the halo
(luminous martyred you)
That lies heavy along your corpus callosum?
Corpus Christi left a bitter taste.
And in the end, couldn’t it have been
A cubic zirconium prophecy & not
Clamshell sin?
IV.
Finally you found yourself a cardboard cathedral
Your cunt the altar, the basin by which
Adulterers are baptized.
So faithfully did you serve the Church
that in the space of a heartbeat,
An orgasm, premature ejaculation
You received word
Of your excommunication.
Gloria Patri
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
I.
Whirlwind delicious confusion
Light green aftertaste just might
Cleanse a strange man’s seed
From your lush harlot palate
You live & breathe sin, but
Only dime-store sin, of the
Gym-shoe-boys variety
None profound: the sin executed
On scabby knees
In a white satin shift.
Open wide
And receive the Eucharist.
II.
All of those Medici popes were unable
To slake your thirst for salvation
They indulged you, world without end
But still you could not be saved.
You accepted the Sacraments, no Lutheran
Were you. And seven Cardinals & seven Bishops
Took such carnal liberties with your body
You were christened a whore and confirmed true
By red-faced clergymen, one by one
Two by two.
III.
And did you wake one morning
Hungry & hurting & heartbroken
Holes in your hands instead of your heart?
And didn’t you don the halo
(luminous martyred you)
That lies heavy along your corpus callosum?
Corpus Christi left a bitter taste.
And in the end, couldn’t it have been
A cubic zirconium prophecy & not
Clamshell sin?
IV.
Finally you found yourself a cardboard cathedral
Your cunt the altar, the basin by which
Adulterers are baptized.
So faithfully did you serve the Church
that in the space of a heartbeat,
An orgasm, premature ejaculation
You received word
Of your excommunication.
