I am an Answerist,
Knowing that god exists, such difficulty,
While others are busy between their nails of air and crosses
of air, I take the hit.
An answerist, it means a deal longer than ten minutes rapt
with the hands where god can see them,
And much more than a clean house and children,
An answerist, so that bubbling revenge is the preoccupation and
fast, not having an eternity to negotiate in,
An answerist, while at first my nerves were evilled by the
tangible taste,
Better than ever they have come back to me.
An answerist, forced to proclaim the wry face against those
who aim their blows wildly,
Their unfledged eyes useless, knowing their wrong but not
its direction.
An answerist, with clothes among the emperors,
But the eggs I cannot lay, nor milt unfurl, a simple tiny price,
And senescence doesn’t hugely gape, nor is cancer round the
corner incessantly,
An answerist, with pleasure zipping my soul to a cheap bodybag,
dumped for the orderlies,
Maybe laid in the ranks of likeminded friends, three or four more,
or even a massacre, would heighten the glee,
At one with god in all its portrayals,
At one with god in all its methods.
Curious to be in spate at society’s lowest ebb,
When outrage weakens them, but I am reinforced in my knowing,
An answerist, kind of poignant, to be at one with an accurate god
while deacons flounder and popes capsize,
Having the answer to god, well of course god exists, how ever
could it not?
