Free
Verse
Psalm
669
Arise ye lazy
and broken hearted.
Arise ye lovers and laggards.
Listen not to the Zealots:
the listless liberal linguists,
the cracked conservative call boys,
flinging excrement across the land.
Arise ye and hear about the Holy Quad.
All praise be to those who listen.
All praise be to the open hearted.
All praise Totra, the holy whore.
She spreads her legs near the Great River, in the holy city.
She beckons you,
“Come, naked and unashamed.”
All praise be to Totra.
and the holy juices flowing from her loins.
Sup upon her pleasure.
Probe her warm restful womb.
Her embrace welcomes you.
Her breasts hears your cries.
Smother yourself in them.
Come to her, deny chastity.
Sleep in her golden box.
Come, receive her blessings.
All praise Totra.
All praise her holy name.
Give ear as I speak of the holy bagman, Grettir.
He walks the streets of our hearts,
gathering refuse.
He places it in his cart and calls it his own.
Look upon his meekness.
Smell his tattered clothes.
He denies dignity
and absorbs our reek.
Listen to his broken babbling mind mutters.
They are reflections of our souls.
Pray to him; ask for his guidance.
From his cart he’ll hand you
forgotten treasures,
from his lips he’ll serve
frays of wisdom.
All praise Grettir.
All praise his holy name.
All praise Mother Spes.
All praise her holy name
She feeds sparrows bread crumbs
from the park bench.
She hides loaves and biscuits,
tucked away
behind the baker’s bin.
Thank her for
the box in the alley,
the car in the cornfield,
the sofa in the shack,
the cot in the shelter.
Thank her for a place to lay your head.
She provides perseverance.
She forges forgiveness.
She reckons justice.
Pray and want not.
By her strength ye shall overcome.
All praise Spes.
All praise her holy name.
Blessed are they who considereth the Holy Hobo Hord.
He is our Father,
the one from whom all things flow.
He blesses the downtrodden,
gives truth to the beggar
and freedom to the transient.
He sees all things.
He hides nothing.
Listen to his still small voice.
It keeps the cup empty.
It fills it up.
It transcends the world,
It transubstantiates want.
Hord welcomes the dreg and the ragged.
He’s merciful to the starving.
He turns from
those who cling to golden platters,
whose lives dance on silver pinheads.
He anoints that which they discard.
He guides his children
to their dumpsters.
He blesses them with their refuse.
All praise Hord.
All praise his holy name.
Arise ye.
Arise ye and hear about the Holy Quad.
All praise be to those who listen.
All praise be to the open hearted.
All praise be to Grettir, Spes, Torta, and Hord.
All praise their holy names.
