I Once Saw a Man With the Face of a Wasp

I once saw a man,
with the head of god,
The voice of god.
Fire in his eyes,
eyes of god.
Power in his tongue,
tongue of god.
The face of a wasp,
This he owned well.

The thump of speakers behind his head,
A powerful sensation.
Our very delight.
The words in his sermon were edible,
Nutritive, gluten-free.
And so, hungry we came.
To a Sunday special edition.

They called him Papa,
So he called them sheep.
His fingers owned five rings of gold,
And on his neck, a purplish cape festered,
On it, a large crucifix jogged our memory.
Of a man of substance crucified.
A man of timber and caliber, he is.

But I held a simpler joy,
Frontwards by two pews,
She gossiped with her lord.
She hi-fived a neighbor.
Turned to another:
God is good, she said to this one.
Her heart marched for this fantastic god,
An odd devotion,
Shaping my nearby faith.

Only yesterday afternoon,
She marched about the neighborhood,
with a red bible.
I produced a wooden stool.
She shared the gospel according to one St. Moses.
I heeded, attentive.
Her chest.
I am blessed.
My daily bread, a given.
A room in hell I already owned.
Because why battle god on the morrow,
When you can love her tonight?

I ask her this.
All of a sudden,
I’m philosophic.
Seeking to outdo.
To kill time.
I tell of a fantastic nightmare.

A recurring calamity.
Of a three-horned rabbit,
Of falling off an endless cliff in my sleep,
And a river of only animal carnage.
I beg for her prayers.
My disease is very big.

And so she brought me here,
A date with her god and the man with the face of a wasp.
That rabbit must die, he prays.
That river must dry.
Amen, I say.

I once saw a man,
with the head of god,
The voice of god,
Fire in his eyes,
Eyes of god.
Power in his tongue,
Tongue of god.
The face of a wasp,
This he owned well.

And when he was done,
An audience he left in a special trance.
Now they will wrestle mountains.
Now they will take wing.
They will dare demons to battles and win.
They will invent worries and fault Lucifer.
They will invent triumphs and applaud self.

I once saw a man full of it.
So that if his god was the god that was god,
Then I was godless,
And godful,
And god all by myself.
Let us pray.

Portrait: The Contrapasso of the sorcerers, astrologers, and false prophets, illustrated by Stradanus.