He was walking down the street
and the wind howled after him
like the screams of angels

On his head was his halo
homburg, scrunched like a fist
and unholy

The streetcorners were strewn
with leaflets promoting
the persecution of Jews

We are all Jews, said the saint,
and homosexuals,
like trumpets in a jazz quartet

We are not quite human at
night but divine beasts,
praying

God fell out of a train,
and was dragged to death...

Did it hurt, asked an idiot,
to the alien subway silence

Graffiti was a prayer for peace,
so they said in anger

At the dirt! The slime! The FILTH!

This is a long dedication to smut,
and Shakespeare

And Sartre (and all those French
fools chanting apocalypses)

Kerouac spoke English with a
drunken slur, sir,
did you know

the metamorphosis started with
death

It is everywhere, their fingerprints
on automobile windows

EVERYWHERE!

(You scare me)

The blood of God is on his hands,
his fingers remorse.

Drink to me,
Drink to me,
Forever, and ever
Amen