President God, I thought you would know
my prayer before I prayed it,
because a god just isn’t a god
if he can’t see the future,
if he doesn’t hold every private want
like a bird in an aviary,
infinite strings attached to infinite wings,
pulling the sails upright in their bottles.
President God, you’re so perfect and infallible
who cares about the potato fields
going to pot in the broke and bankrupt Midwest,
the truckloads and truckloads
of vegetables turned into compost
like unanswered letters mailed to the sky?
My god is a loving god
a just god a kind peaceful all-knowing god
and the television is a non-believer,
an enemy of the state.
Fuck your feelings.
President God, I’ll sacrifice my children,
my parents, my friends and lovers,
on the rocks of the tabernacle,
I’ll anoint the false idols
with the blood of these lambs,
a holy rite of passage
to own the libs
who just want to watch America fail.
President God, they’ll see your grand design,
your confluence of invisible roads
paved by the scriptures of jurisprudence,
that every pre-plotted act
of espionage and self-destruction
was merely a test of faith,
a schematic architecture
counting out mass graveyards
and filling them up like jellybean jars
to see how many lives it takes
before the devoted renounce their devotion.
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