Wanda Coleman

HOLLYWOOD THEOLOGY (2)

in this Gomorrah of Gomorrahs

one is forced to live up to whatever one eats

jacked up on zeal,
limited visionaries with partial
solutions abound, and all the winners are
stunned that defeat can shine so brightly

where sun-baked sallow-skinned madonnas
ride dashboards and blue chip stamps promise
middle-class nirvana
where the wise speak in monotones

the media has been infiltrated by
midnight movers, those bone-packing
desperadoes of The New Disorder

and all the intellectuals are walking
around with Boy Scout knives
buried in their brains

while over three hundred corpses a year
are found quietly rotting in Griffith park

(our cops can beat up your cops)

where frequent violations of
the outlawed ritual of public toking
indicates lack of fiber during
a past incarnation of the bowel

lost between the book the game & the crack
mailfolk and census statisticians
keep finding themselves victims to
pit bulls & wrong-way drivers

revamped religions thrive on confused
believers in prefabricated love,
and a sense of purpose is this week’s disease
symptomatic of dislocation trauma

(sins borrowed for entertainment ugliness
made holy and useful, devoid of
forgiveness. you. fathamutha)

these streets are filled with insomniacs
and the detritus of defrocked breeders
excuse & endurance mingle as meek jesuses
practice obscene finger worship

rebirth here is all sequins, nail enamel & smoke

—from Rattle #11, Summer 1999