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Poetry #18
(published Late in the Year, 2000)
Saint Cecilia: World Party Telegramvitætion
by Jason Kirk

Ladies and gentlemen, pimps hos & yeomen n' -women n' -children,
gods and pets, rocks & ghosts, friends omens n' the most of the rest
of you, crankies lovelies lawyers and paupers, pen names & produce,
happy peeps n' vertebrates n' anyone in the jerks of a preachy heat!
this is roll call fo' da potty if any went unsummoned better speak up
now u've only 1 line break 2 say
so it seems we're all here? It's like nobody's listening we've all gone
gaga for inattention, that state sedate where because
maybe of a healthy (meaning both robust and probably reasonable)


fear of others of us (meaning everyone but me) or of ourselves (me)
we stop vying for the attention of anyone. Attention is an important
stuff. There are FunDips in the back and alcohol after the conclusion
of the reading back at reader's residence. Pay attention, spend it like
a trust fund acquired the day of the death of the god who raised you.
In the case of atheists that'd be
the day of the death of a notagod which might be but wouldn't have to
be: the beginning of a god, which also depending
on the preference of the people of that god might be the god's birth or


the god's conception: Mum- and Pupgod bucking girdles in bed
or else: aspiring-single-parentgod clenching Its fists as the petri dish's
little consciousness gets grafted to a simple soul or else: nine divine
month's later little fetal Zeus or Krishna, Ra Yemanjá Osiris or Allah,
JHVH Great Spirit Grandfather Time Mother Earth Ourlordwhat-
haveyou— be berthed. Life begins
eventually. Bud from hydra, cell from cell, fern from spore, & mini
lump of life from egg, in- or outside mother next,
son from father, neut- outta neuter, it happens. The passion that's


regeneration keeps on like the seasons' keepin' on n' on for one after
another generation. And everyOne's invited!; let the flappers drink
free drinks compliments of the Koi San; Mayans meet Mughals; Miss
Ananiashvili, I'd like to introduce you to my UncleViking; yes deep
in the wine cellar a representative of Lesbos shakes the bloody paws
of a few crusaders; Cecilia thrusts
her notyet-thrice-beheaded neck & plants a pucker smack on the face
of some pagan, but the tryst goes not any further ex-
cept for they get hitchedhookedmarried; the list goes on going check it


out; Alice B. Toklas n' Moses adroitly tango; stylites shout fullgusto
YouGoGirls down @ the underground railroad's conductors who
merengue ballet cabbage patch and polka through the crowd, those
Detroit Pistons & Roman Gladiators following behind in a festive
globalocomotion; Jesus bobs his bethornéd head to the bossa nova
beat machine; Gutenberg of a kind
of bible fame he and Hagar of another kind excuse themselves for
a stint in the ol' vomitorium round the corner in
downtown Mombassa; virus do-si-dos white blood cell up the wall


STOP Too much: stone soup for the quasipseudounsacrosanctified soul STOP

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