O you reckless, inhospitable creatures!
Sodomites who had me destroying whole cities
in an extremely contrary manner!
And for what? Your ill treatment of
strangers, namely me and my own,
brought you little to brag about.

You were entertained unawares by angels,
myself and my twin,
Only in your myths there appeared
more than one version of the story, and I
was left out completely in your final draft.

I heard about this after my Sunshine trip.
It turned my clock backwards and gave me
a child's kind heart.

Anyway my own body was credited to
those who understood the story.
Their power and glory. (I found they could
build more than a cairn, really neat cities
all decked in finery and little gay
establishments welcoming all strangers).

The rest of the populace thought
all we did was blind mobs
and all that reigning from heaven stuff.
It was their unkindness and drunken
stupidity we blasted!
Even today they will say it was unnatural love,
but how could that be?
Love is never less than natural.

II. There still awaits some colossal of the
boards to get this story right.
There were two women
(twins also) from up north,
who rode white horses to see us once.
You couldn't lie to them though and they
gave us a son.
Our descendants still roaming
Earth to this day.
Thanks, just what worlds needed!

If it were written I promise
it'd be "the biggest moneymaker
in history..immaculately conceived from
start to finish...she lies on
a straw pallet for seven years, which cannot
be further subdivided!
Then she births the son of twins!"

Yes, I know that the crowd
will want an average of all,
and will say--"He counts, he writes, there's
the amazing Joseph in him!"

Well, you may hate him
but he is still your father's son.

III. Ah the Sunshine! It burns my skin
and the sweet smell of flower flesh
fills the valley until smoke
carries it to the high places.
Petl, potula, Peter
and the cosmic pettiness of man.
It burns and sinks (oak always sinks eventually).
But from the glub of river bottoms
there is a path back.

Ignore the inhospitables, the sodomites,
so-called citizens and worthies.
No matter how immortal she is,
they'll always try to make a whore of the
tavern keeper's wife.

(It sure was a lot of fun at the theater.)
I know.
If it brought all people together
as one I was there.
In the hotels, the taverns, and the theaters.
(You know what that means.)

But now I await that colossal who sings:

"His loins are withered, let him sleep,
He was an actor at liberty
and damn proud of it!
Mourners, let him eat!
Ferry that body into the river burning,
pass yourselves to and from high places."

And do not wait for the citizens to go there
(For they never can).
And do not say of him that your soul
frets in the shadow of his language.