in louisiana, legislation was devised to allow concealed firearms in churches. anyone with a proper permit could have carried prior to this legislation, thus accenting a politic of fear and division, slowly evaporating faith in peace and love.
i'm so glad your soul belongs to jesus, lately your good manners and much else have eluded me; we promised no more nukes, no more point-blank sights, but you need to zero in, to wield the cerem0nial knife: a feral child thrashing away with occam's razor.
that's why i had to get out and see the world or at lest the plush mamas on the other side of the street. naked and forked, i forked my way to the other side of lonely avenue; sure all the time you saw me from your lighted window and disapproved.
and when they left me bruised and bleeding, as hungry for death as death in life can be, you scolded and screamed and called me lost and wrote me off.
by god's mercy i didn't die; step by step on the muddy road back i called distance from you a good thing' a thick clot hearsay poisoned what was left of your milk's kindness.
we had one more run in us, and made it; pilgrims dazzled with our brilliant runs--- fast eddie and calamaity jane dance in quick time and promised each other more. and if the songs stop now, i will be blamed, pilloried in a sheet of fire for some real slight or some imagined neglect: i have called too much or not enough.
there's only one thing left i'd like to know--- can you still trip the lightning and catch its glow in your clear smooth jar and hold it up like a child, as surprised as anyone with its brassy glow?
these others catch their fireflies and are satisfied; and i would be too if i didn't know, hadn't always known better.