Thursday, December 17, 2009

652. THE AMEN CORONER

THE AMEN CORONER
Everybody's done without me,
everybody I once knew. Two
guys are dead, one's in prison,
another has his head squared off
in a fucking California nuthouse
somewhere. I can't take even a
minute to breath - they never let up,
all these idiots of the past, these broken
idols of Hell's own chambers of echoes.
If it means anything to you - alone -
I would at least say this : the State Police
are out on the Princeton Lawn, outside
Robinson Hall, watching carefully every
one of us passing by. Why? Some fool
from an Arabian country, now visiting the UN,
is in town for a campus talk - discussion
split with monologue, like an infinitive meaning
infinite nothing, or piles of Islamic shit, or some
old Jew-blubbering about the ageless habits of
nomadic fools. Christians? They're probably best
personified by the shithead police out on the lawn :
ever-watchful, stupid as all get-out, and dressed up
in ridiculous attire meant to signify something. Amen.

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