Sinner
Even as I made the sin of Onan,
I’d laved my hand in a balm of hyssop
(or oregano that Google deems the selfsame
herb), and thus my offense became purified
in its very act. While a man called Wolf
stood stolidly in a Situation Room,
intoning into my own dark and dusty room
the world’s wickedness, I bubbled a Beam
bottle until its hell fire lost its burn.
I lurched forth to cry out my wisdom
in the streets, to lament the bloodguiltiness
of my birth, sun slashing my eyes
like a white hot sword. I felt the vile slime
of my transgressions ooze upon my skin;
hideous salamanders squirmed hissing
against a searing sky. Since all temple doors
were locked against me, I knelt before
each table at the Chick-fil-a, unbuttoning
smirched garments to purge my secret heart,
babbling in a tongue long lost to meaning
for mortal situations of this fallen world.
O surely redemption comes wailing to us
in flashing lights, and only in shackles
can a broken spirit be contrite and cleansed.
I’d laved my hand in a balm of hyssop
(or oregano that Google deems the selfsame
herb), and thus my offense became purified
in its very act. While a man called Wolf
stood stolidly in a Situation Room,
intoning into my own dark and dusty room
the world’s wickedness, I bubbled a Beam
bottle until its hell fire lost its burn.
I lurched forth to cry out my wisdom
in the streets, to lament the bloodguiltiness
of my birth, sun slashing my eyes
like a white hot sword. I felt the vile slime
of my transgressions ooze upon my skin;
hideous salamanders squirmed hissing
against a searing sky. Since all temple doors
were locked against me, I knelt before
each table at the Chick-fil-a, unbuttoning
smirched garments to purge my secret heart,
babbling in a tongue long lost to meaning
for mortal situations of this fallen world.
O surely redemption comes wailing to us
in flashing lights, and only in shackles
can a broken spirit be contrite and cleansed.
