Jesus Prayer

Are you mocking at me, my lovers & player-haters, for my religion of ecstasy?
You won't live long after my curse.
No corkscrew is too short & no unemployed welfare mother is too lazy.
I've noticed your civilization of morality is drowning in its wastes.
I am the reason I am serious,
You are the underpants of the universe,
So slow down, my lovers & my player-haters, because my cancer doctor was too Hegelian for my tastes.

Pray for me so quietly under your breath, where the dormouse might be electrified out of his narcolepsy:
At least he was high on caffeine.
Saint Augustine was hesitant to startle the peace of the historical-minded nuns in Poughkeepsie,
But I alas have never been one for subtlety, & tend to address whole nations across centuries in a robust bass-baritone.
Is there justice in velocity?
Is there justice in anything, besides obscenities & kerosene?
Fling it. If he's ready, don't keep him awake with a lullaby. And turn off the ringer on your cell phone.

I believe in the imagination, but I do not believe that Canada is ready for a black female president,
Unless she's served with plum sauce.
I respect the hocus-pocus of the masses, I distrust borrowers, but I love paying rent,
I'll help you out of your straight-jacket, if you don't tell anyone I was talking to myself,
I'll sing my own praises,
With or without Walt Whitman I'll glorify the cross,
And you can beg to the invisible with all your sincerity, but keep this book respectfully next to the others on your highest shelf.