Men of Reason: bold, progressive
hammer wielders, depth resounders –
shout from the helm your Godless missive
as our Bible-lifeboat flounders.

Send that Flying Spaghetti Monster,
our imaginary friend,
to the myth-conception dumpster:
let the Bronze Age folktales end.

Make the idols bow to Science.
Your progressive task: to mock –
seek that end in brave defiance.
Down with the shepherd’s useless flock !

Laser-focused human reason
serves to clarify the matter,
strips the symbols from the season,
superstitious tales to shatter.

We, mere rubes in need of crutches,
simple children, willing tools –
must be rescued from the clutches
of the fables preached to fools.

Seamless garments, bushes burning:
are but schemes for fleecing sheep…
We are plebes devoid of learning;
rouse our silly souls from sleep!

Flood us with your noontide wisdom
decimate the weaker link.
Blow away our card-house kingdom
show us Christards how to think.

Then, like you, we shall no longer
cling to ignorance and lies.
Missing links make chains yet stronger,
dragging fairies from the skies.

We shall join you in assurance
that there is no great beyond
thus no need for fire insurance
clergy, staff or magic wand.

We shall celebrate together
joyful, freed from superstition
endless, godless sunny weather:
non-existent non-perdition.

Having thus improved the light
and magnified Man’s modern day,
God’s angels will expire in fright;
the Lord shall meekly fade away.

GOD is a white guy in his 30’s. GOD wears a royal blue Petsmart hat.  GOD has on a grey, short-sleeve button down shirt with a clip-on i.d. badge. GOD’s i.d. badge contains no letters or numbers, just a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge with a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge on it, and so on into infinity. GOD has cold sores on the corners of his mouth. GOD wears stone-washed jeans. They’re too short, but they have an elastic waist which is really comfortable, so it kinda makes up for the whole “too short” thing. GOD needs really thick “George H. W. Bush” glasses so he can open the rodent cages at work. GOD grew a mustache to hide the scarring from years of using old crusty disposable razors. GOD wears high-tops from 1998. They’re rather worn, but remarkably clean. GOD knows what to do with his hands, but not so much his fingers. GOD is in her 20’s. GOD is sad sometimes and she doesn’t know why. GOD nods. GOD once proved that the country of France does not exist. The fact that the country of France actually does exist makes the accomplishment that much more astounding! GOD is the dark and terrible Dragoyle! The first and last of his kind! GOD is a vicious, taloned beast born of the boiling pits of Borok-‘Tor! His reptilian wings expand across all of space and time and, with even the most gentle twitch, stir up a dense shear of molten flame scalding the skin of all Creation! GOD’s ancient black-diamond eyes, forged from eons of wrath and pain blast-melted in the great furnace that is his heavy heart, peer only inward, leaving him an uncompromising and limitlessly powerful but ultimately humiliating and repulsively weepy creature! GOD is All and All is king of all of All and all of He! GOD is the Unmirror. GOD is the final mathematic tragedy of what happens when we only ever try. GOD is the ghost of a dead thing that never was. GOD is the shattered, petrified shell of Pandora’s box cast down to the crackled crust of Pan’s windless desert. GOD loves you more than himself because GOD knows you are real. GOD farts on books! GOD sips on soup! GOD is a very serious actor in full make-up and costume doing an intense and superbly crafted representation of God, getting to the heart, the true reality of what it is to be God, the essence of Goddom, but in the end fears losing control and holds back, resulting in not genius but blasphemy! GOD masturbates to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! GOD caught you ******* to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! One time GOD got so drunk he forgot you were in the room! GOD invited you to the event “Max’s Karaoke Birthday Bash”! GOD knows you, but isn’t in know with you! GOD is 8,9,12,5,9,4! GOD is . . . ! -hha-hha- GOD is heard breathing. GOD breathes like you do when you’re asleep. At the start of each breath there is a very poignant yet very subtle lip-smack sound. The breathing is steady, never changing pace. Like that of Darth Vader only intentionally ridiculous. Like that of a ticking metronome only . . .  lifeful, which is a brand new word.

Will the Baul ever quit his search
Singing all through the-
Deserted land, ektara a trail of his
Existence walked him with no promises.
Will He ever listen to their bald cries?
To His realm they say beyond the blues,
Life awaits out of the tableau of massacres.
The world of assumptions tampered
By a philosopher’s fairy tale decides
Birth, death, rebirth, curse and richness?
The blind light is biting his body, heart & soul
He still needs it, his poppy tears.
The system needs it to tear him open,
His body, heart and soul in vain.
Music of the Baul has no destination
Still the voyage is essential.
Ektara has to walk with him, all through
The barren lands, villages and futility.
There’s no end to his search!

She is gone
And eternity will not soften these sorrows
Will not change the rivers
Will not alter their course
Only set in stone stupidity
Those fallacies
That justify wasting this life
In favor of the next

He is gone
Though the nightmares continue
Wars are still raging
The heavenly host are not saving
The women from ******
And the children from dying

I am dead
King of corpses
Equal, more, and less to all
The master of dirt
I did not turn away
I listened even when it caused me pain
Even when it caused me shame
Even when the bad news came

God is dead
That never was walking *******
Excuses
We used
To justify the abuse
They do not work
The only demon that exists
Persists in ill intent

Non-believer in a holy land,
Stained glass tells my favorite fairy tales,
While crypts whisper to the Angel choir,
"Gloria a Dio.. Cristo Pietà."

The street reeks of burnt things,
Incense offered to the man in the hills.
Perched above the people and nestled below the heavens,
The tranquil streets carry their own version of history.

Father says this place holds magic,
And I fear to displease him.
I'll pray for him on graves and make blood sacrifices,
But not for me, my soul is already liberated.

The streets glow bright neath the shadow of church spires,
A history that speaks for itself.
The hills will sing its praises as will I,
For the piazza of storytellers,
For the direct line to martyrdom,
Never will I fathom them.

Bible literature
Foretells the rapture
With the breaking
Of the Seventh Seal;
But there's an Eighth
That seals our mouths;
Broken
When we're laid out.
We'll never know,
That all along,
There's nothing at all
To worry about.