Issue 22 - 1992

Coe Review • Issue 22
My Christian heritage speaks up,
Reminds me that all flesh is grass,
That my flesh is ashes and dust,
That rich men can’t pass the strait gate,
The pure shall inherit the earth
That creation shall end in flame.
Then I’m repelled by the whole, sick mess.
I’m repelled by the crucified Christ,
By Margery Kempe howling dog-like
For potent males she takes to be God,
Repelled by the sex-damned stench of priests,
By the leavings of protestant cant,
And by this lust for Armageddon.
Repelled by this student’s fox-like face
And his taking the rumple of sex
Pressing on it the clean folds of death,
By his taking the mess of the world
And imposing a microchip life
Because he thinks the silence of God
Awaits his particular advent.
And I’m repelled that his eyes won’t meet mine,
By the fact he prefers violence to sex,
By the fact when he tells me he would kill
The whole world to see his dream he smiles
And by the fact that at heart he loves death.
In the forests of the night
What beast is born? what beast is born?
What long awaited child of light
Awaits the thorn? Awaits the thorn?
In the depths of the human soul
What beast is born? what beast is born.
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