the homeless guy
told me jesus was coming
as he slipped the dollar
into his pant pocket
with a fevered stare
above an empty smile
and i have been on
the lookout ever since

the last thing i need
is an angry aramaic
profiteering prophet
walking on my freshly
manicured waterways
telling me to turn
the other cheek when
i have been itching
for a fucking fight

i don’t want that kind
of unbearable proof
to force me to re-re-live
each one of my many
splendiferouscatastrophes
the burden of belief
after so long casually
kowtowing to nihilism
might be the final straw
to break the poet’s back

besides
the eternally returning
son of god likely
has better things to do
than preach the gospel
to this bipolar bastard
when there are plenty
of starving children
he could ignore

i wonder if
it is the orgasms
or atrocities
which get his
holy attention
it sure as shit
isn’t the prayers