I Believe in God the Father Almighty

I believe in God the Father Almighty ...

Father Almighty?
Mother Almighty?
BoomBah.
Bastion.
Biggie.
Beginning.

Everything.
Nothing.
Something.
All over the place.
In every stick and stone.

Every bird and rat and snake and cow and pig and giraffe and hippo and tortoise and porpoise.
Every human being ... I mean, every.
The crotchety neighbor.
The ragged woman on the corner.
The squalling baby.
The border-crossing farm worker.
The refugee from Syria.
And all the riffraff of life.

And the high and the mighty.
The expensive suit people.
The piled up hair people.
The gold-plated people.
Who think the world owes them their living.
Their place.
The station in life.
Their shitty power, which they love so much.
To flaunt at the country club.
While they compare private planes.
And big yachts.
And the latest insider trading schemes.

God ... whatever.

Something bigger than me, my world, everyone's world.
Bigger than the universe.
Something we can hope in.
Hope for.
Maybe even love, sometimes.

I don't know.

It's good to have something beyond me.
Beyond the strife and struggle of the day.
The year.
The century.
The forever of time and death and life and birth and endings and tears and laughter and beer and whisky and weed and heroine and heroes and hoes and hipsters ...

I believe ... that's a big thing.
God ... bigger still.
Father, Mother, Sister, Brother ... close and kind ... yet forever mystery ... beyond ... fearsome sometimes, like a midnight storm breaking fast and furious upon one's sleep ...

Almighty ... thank you.

I believe.

This Is What Amerika Is

The whole darn thing still feels surreal … 

But if Amerikan history tells a story, it well may be that

Obama and his 8 were the surrealist of all.

We’re a nation of Hardings and Hoovers.

We love the spiel of the Chamber of Commerce.

We believe in Capitalism.

Oh, and let’s not forget Coolidge.

And Reagan the smiling shit.

And then the Bushes.

This is who really are.

A nation of sheep.

Who love to be fleeced and slaughtered.

If the killing hand belongs to the rich.

It’s our fate, says the poor.

And maybe I’ll be rich myself some day.

If I worship the Mammon God.

It’s a White Thang, for sure.

Racism to flavor the

Soup of hate.

But that hideous prosperity gospel has 

Infected the Black Church, too.

With its hatred of LGBTs and Qs.

This is who we really are.

So let’s not be naive.

Quite being a deer in the headlights.

Jump outta the way and get ready.

For the fight of a lifetime.

For the ever-fight.

The task of opening doors.

Luther fought the good fight.

So did his namesake, MLK.

And so must we.

Because Amerika is what it is.

It ain’t what she used to be.

No, she is what she’s always been

Heil the Chamber of Commerce.

Come on Big Boy, grab us all in the privates.

We’re here for the taking.

This is what Amerika is.