Confessions of a Poet and an Artist

Calluna 80 x 100 cm acryl/dispersion color/oilpastel on canvas by Karin Goeppert

CONFESSION

God and I are not always on the same page.

We beg to differ, quibble over this and that.

When I’ve had a little too much Idolatry—

the Red label, not the White or Black—

I’m ready to bitch-slap the world, railing away

like a wannabe stand-up comic in front of

an open mike: scratch the surface of a poet

you find a lay priest hungry for a chuckle.

Meantime God’s earthly sales reps waver  

between crises of faith and joyful slaughter of the infidel—

take your pick—while a few slip into some

dim edifice of sin, whorehouse or men’s room

of a Detroit bus station—take your pick—only to

come out the other end holier-than-thou than ever.

Altars heaped with shreds of ozone and Brazilian

T-bone steaks and still there’s cancer and every kind of slavery.  

And yet—you can write me up if you want to—and yet, God’s wife

is absolutely gorgeous. I‘ve always liked the wives of major deities.

When they are witty, and don’t force me to say grace before supper.