Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Streaking toward horizon alive with boats—
white lines reaching across the sea at meters per second.
I’m holding my breath.
(Explode, goddamn you. Explode . . . shit.)
Our shipping lanes are clogged
with your shitty terrorist flotilla—
outboarded skiffs with mounted 50-caliber machine guns.
No matter what your god has told you,
our God says, “Boom!”
Do us a favor and die, already,
Bible Belters, Rust Belters,
shady denizens of the panhandles of Texas and Florida.
God wills it. It’s in the Book.
Nothing just happens, crazy person.
There is a Plan. This is a Test.
Your destiny is propelled by German-engineered supercavitation.
No Sherpa can lead you to the Kingdom of Heaven,
not even from the highest peak on the planet.
Besides, what religion do they teach in Nepal?
Damn the torpedoes!
I’m lashed to the mast like David Farragut,
and you’re going down!
Full speed ahead!
Goddamn you! Goddamn you! Goddamn you!