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Two Religions Two religions move through me. I am a pipe between two buildings, a conduit upward and downward. The world sees nothing. It hears a swishing through the pipe, And merely knows something is happening. Now is upward. Man ascending. My Rosary is dumb and waits for the downward movement, for God descending. That might be some time: two months, one. Each religion has its sacred texts. They curse and spit at each other: "Jew, Heathen, Papist, Pagan": the pipe is also a gauntlet. Now, the buildings have been visited by an invisible plumber. The pipe purrs. I rub it like the back of a cat. It is nice, as if there were a meeting between man ascending, God descending. "But that could never be." I hear you, I hear you. A hand moves, like the lips of Satan in the Garden. Someone has flushed in one of the buildings. I am ascending now. "Heathen, Pagan." My soul is fearful, but my cock is hard. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2015-06-06 20:49:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
OK WoW. Talk about a poets ending. Pretty much speehless