With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island
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The fat priest balancing
on his small feet signs in
for a high weekend
of church festivities. His colorless
face bends bland above the register.
He will be lifting candelabra
and prayers rising from his knees
occasionally and sighing
as he tries to comprehend
the world’s huge need for evil.
It is up to God
who has forgiven religious wars
remembering a medieval world
when all of us
His head is like a ball
surrounded by orbs and haloes,
the still center of the world
encircled by the spheres.
His blood is the still water of the world.
By the will of God
and the power of the king
we have no choice but to live
on the water planet and die
when our time comes.
We are things of water
We are bored with all nationalism.
The flags with their stripes and moons
are the craziest things there are.
We are tired of the colors.
Secretly we desire
a colorless world.
What we all want is canoes
exploring the farthest waters.
We want the snow that crosses borders.
We want the rain that washes away
national boundaries and passports.
We want the chants of all religions
joining like the rivers.
We want the only sane thing,
a planet like a ball
of water where anyone can float