Gospel on Sundays

"god's a mighty mustard jar..."
says the Drunken Devil Gospel Choir
up & kickin'
every
Sunday

they even got those
savage
drumkits already
no country
& western
this time...

"the benches are silk
& the chip up your ass
is Styrofoam..."
& they kneel down deeper
as deep as their
throats
& worship the lord
as good as they can
w/ a song
that is weak
as
hell

& the black robe bearer hits the organ
foul
manual
sings out death
in all choices of color

wipes out the microphone
rot

killing the flies
that disturb him
one by one by one

wishin' they were some dive-in
strippers
wishin' he could be Manson...

& we're all poor singers
in this goddamn Choir...
& this is the silk
of deliverance
w/ all these Styrofoam
still up your ass
all good clean fun
& bass
& baritone
chips

while the soldiers line up near the altar:
expecting to find a
faith
bomb
the one they cannot disarm...

"nothing here but a mustard jar
& flies & chips up your ass..."
spits out
the
Choir
already
disjointed...