Do not spend too much time at places where people wear name tags.
It is like a hole in their chests,
where their soul seeps out
like the watery, blood from a wound.
The story goes on,
Do not spend too much time in the “house of God”.
The house itself is fine,
It is the entertainment that wrecks you, damages you like a Nebraskan hailstorm.
the heavenly host, silent.
Stage right, a preacher in spasms,
words and spittle fired from his wax shined face,
In God’s love,
you’re all included,
one and all,
together, as one,
on an individual bases,
together then alone,
for a woman’s hands,
skin like suede.
A half a bottle of scotch to douce
a fire trail,
and I got to hang out with Hank Williams Sr and Jesus.