St Paul's Rant

St Paul's Rant I can ferret out that hint of musk. I can smell the woman odor on your sleeve. Did you think to have your little gloat At my expense? Do you see this pile of oats Which fills my hands? I will crush And batter it until the grains are dust. Likewise, will Our Savior smash your sin And tear the shocking sex from it. You call yourself His follower? No Christian man would rut between the thighs Of all the bleeding whores of Babylon With makeup 'round their eyes, Nor seek the smell that rises from the Devil. You are desire's sewer and its fundament. Fall to your impure knees. Our Lord, Christ Jesus is not the outcome of A two part groan - a coupling in Bethlehem. Be glad of His forgiveness, infinite Anathema would be my choice of goal, Until you beat yourself to bloody bone And stop defiling every fleshly hole, Your oders stinking up the Galilee. Carl Estrin