Wednesday, December 15, 2004

writing my way out of a paper bag... or is that a paper drag?

Today I could have thrown a computer or a human being through the glass windows at my work, I was that peevish all day long. I repeat as before, like a broken record, as I get ready to say my prayers and go to bed, this is still the point in time of spiritual renewal/retreat/re-forward when I decide that my aspirations to "put on the new man" are wildly overambitious and lead me to and tottering on the edge of reason. My own shibboleth. But you know what? Eff it if they can't take a joke, to quote some guy from some movie that I can't remember. Sr. Kathryn says there are ... [something, I forget her exact words,] something like glass shards sprinkled all along the road if we try to travel barefoot. Barefoot is for hippies. I am big girl now. Snares of the devil pish-tosh! So, as St. Paul said in his Epistle to the Vegelutherans (now lost), "I will put on the boots of stubbornness and the corselet of good humour and embrace the banana split of wakefulness covered with the whipped cream of silliness and the cherry on top of hilarity," and stride into the fray, glass shards be darned...

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POOR BANISHED CHILDREN

Orcs gnash.
White beasts prevaricate.
Mothers let their boyfriends kill their children in motel rooms.

Ring around the devil's knees, pockets full of rosaries,
Ashes, ashes, we all mourn and weep.
--
Lambs wash.
Mercies accelerate.
Mother let your children find their Champion in your womb.

Lamb of God protect our get, harrow hell, collect our debt.
Mercy, mercy, we all fall down.
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