Making A God Inside

Building a statue
Of my faith
Out back

I pay the rats
By the dumpster
Tree fiddy a day
To collect
Empty syringes
Broken bottles
And dolls with only one eye

I’m constructing my own god
My own savior

All I want is for him to have gentle hands
Maybe a secret handshake
The good kind of secret
That comes in a bottle of bubbles
And sidewalk chalk.

I know you will be going soon.
While you are here,
Will you please hold my hand?

I can’t seem to breathe life
Into the contraption
Of truth
I created
those rats have my money

And I just need somebody to hold my hand.

The Obligatory Masturbation Poem

The personification

Sitting at the typer
Using well trained hands
To touch all the right letters
Spelling words
Building sentences
Constructing a fantasy
That makes you temporarily forget
Who and where
The hell you are

It takes an ego to write poetry
And it takes an imagination to masturbate
Especially consistency
And I’ve recently begun to believe
That consistency is an art.

Playing with words Manipulating images in your mind
Blood rushing through your veins
Instead of blood rushing out
Onto the floor.

If you watch enough TV
I think
The urge to write
Is slowly suppressed
As is
The urge to get off

Everyone and
On tv
Are perfect

What makes the poem beautiful
To me
Is its imperfection.

What makes masturbation beautiful
To me
Is that it takes less time
Than writing a poem
Having sex
Or going thru the line up
Of cable channels.

Kill Your Television or it will…

If you spend enough time
With the television on
You will eventually
Become a homicidal maniac

Or perhaps,
That’s just me.

The Jesus Bar

My friend pete
Wants to open
A jesus bar.

The waitress will wear
Black leather nun bondage outfits
I guess the dudes will dress like priests

The menu with have
Only wine and breads

”I’ll have the body of Christ with garlic…”

And there will be token confessional booths
So that you can steal someone away
And lay down in dirt
Behind the walls of cheap pseudo wood

I said I thought that I should come in once a week
And make an appearance as Jesus.
All drunk and shit.

I could go all GG Allin on it
And wear a real crown of thorns
If I’m presented with the double dog dare.

I’d give out golden tokens
For the jukebox
Which will have only
Black Sabbath
Judas Priest

For a few extra bucks
I’ll place the bread on your tongue
And say abbra caddabra
These parlour tricks aren’t cheap, ya know

Perhaps I’ll even barter
For nails
My white trash ticket
To Disneyland
Larger than life
And Mickey Mouse
Is the hugest fucking statue
I’ve ever seen.

And if you don’t have nails or money
You can wash my feet
And I’ll add you to the list.

The Jesus bar,

If I’m gonna play god
I guess I better figure out
What my motivation is.

Debbie Kirk is the author of two chapbooks “Lost Words of Suicide Lovers “(Pink Anarchkitty Press),
and “Valley of the Gallows” (Black Hoody Nation). She has been published in a number of online
publications including the following: Babel Magazine, Mystery Island Publications, Impetus,
Cherry Bleeds, Mystery Island Remark…a ‘zine of damn fine poetry, Lummox Journal, Foole’s Gold,
The People’s Poet, Sex and Guts etc. She has also been published in a number of print ‘zines,
to name a few: Failed Seeker, Fearless, Open Minds Quarterly, Transcendent Visions,
and Austin Celebrity Profiles. She is the creator and editor for Pink Anarchkitty Press.

© 2004 Underground Voices