The Resurrection covers incidentals—
but not at first. The cipher's in the fine
print, where per deus diems, limo rentals,
and tips are for the vested only. Mine
had aftermarket warranties. The rest
are queued up for their refunds, burying
God's service counter with complaints. The best
present their lifetime guarantees: they bring
their paperwork in barrows, carting loads
and shoving, turfing birth certificates
I help pick up. It's rapture. Now the roads,
congested save the HOV lanes (pits
& heights—it's all subjective), empty. All
the skyscrapers pretend to sway and fall.
1 comment:
Totally wild! You are a riot. Naught a bit altered and plowing after the religious "right" with a vengeance one can't but love, after a fashion.
This appears delightfully more traditional and worthier of its classification as one of them "most exquisite" morsels by some insignificant poet.
Sardonic humor laces through it like gold netting holding all the contents in place, imagery like baubles balanced precariously shall we say, for the fun of it.
Does this mean you've picked up the gauntlet to finish out a 366 or 365 chunk however many days elapse between? I'm enjoying your wittiness or something.
Nice surprise.
Though, as a bit of a disclaimer, one of my sonnet instructors forbade me use more than three syllable words and only one rare four syllable word per sonnet or something like that. I've graduated but still could not justify using a 5 or 6 syllable word in one today, though stinks I fail to recall what delicious word it was.
ttfn,
Jenny
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