Nothing more important
for you tasting the salt of a cold ocean
or me wandering endless sand in baking sun.
I hate Augustine and all late repentants.
Like it's never too late
but what the fuck it's never too early either
when there is a knee on your neck
or a crude, selfish employer insults
a worker to rip the light cape of dignity.
Are we to eat the dirt of grinding poverty
while you search your pebble soul?
Shall we all wait, wait, fucking forever wait
while you give yourself a medal
or drop a dime on a museum?
Shall we review ten thousand years of economics
and conclude it has always been this way?
Only the good die young.
It's a dog-eat-dog world.
Kill or be killed.
Rob or be robbed.
Is that what this is all about?
That I, like God, shall wait patiently
while you rape the universe
and oppress all the good who are not dead yet,
who wonder why they depend on you,
you who refuse to see that your palace is
a mountain of blood and trash.
. . . let there be a tax, one hundred percent
on all sinners who do not repent within ten minutes.
And the office is closed for renovations.
I beat Saint Augustine.
I beat him with a broom, a shovel and a mop.
John T. Manimas, April 2021
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