Curses

I curse fluently and foully
As though auditioning
For Deadwood
Long and loud
With tears in my eyes

But what good does it do
When the insanely selfish
Continue unfazed
With their diabolical plans

So I curse my inability
To call down fire and brimstone
Boils and gnats
With my wrath

Obviously
To curse effectively
One needs the right god or demon
On your side

The demons seem all to be busy
Riding the backs of those
Gathering to protest
The loss of their right
To kill others

Guns are no longer enough
The demons whisper in their ears
You must have the right
To shake their hand
Kiss their cheek
And spit in their eye

And as a god for cursing
Jesus is sorely lacking
I don’t want to turn the other cheek
I don’t want to forgive them
And I certainly don’t want to be
Whipped by their rights
Crucified on their delusions

I want YHWH
An old-fashioned personal god
Of righteousness and vengeance
A god who loves only
The faithfully masked
The isolated chosen ones

I want metaphorical
Jawbones of an ass
Trumpets
Slingshots
Samson
To tear their temple down
I want to crush and bury
Their stupidity
Their arrogance
Their selfishness

I want to curse them
With Shakespearean grandeur
Would t’were safe enough
To spit upon them
I would
Cripple them
That their limbs may halt
As lamely as their thinking
A plague upon them!
This plague upon them!
And a vengeance too!

I curse until I weep
And then I pray,
“Curse me not,
Sweet God,
With this unforgiving spirit.”

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