Part One of the Five-Weeks-in-the-making Semi-Epic has been completed, February 25th-29th. An explanation of the process (in illuminative collaboration with Mr Golden), see this post: here.
Pithy pendulum, succinct in his own cool,
Frolicking with his satyr brethren, free of thought,
The naked male had no troubles until he entered school,
Filing & refiling sweet delight, nourished by rot,
The abstract offends twenty-five times the written,
The visual & sempiternal, the school nurse distraught,
And Christian to her brains, & Christian & Queen of Britain.
At church itself, he was not so much shunned as he was flogged.
The hymnbook was chockfull of goose-pimple-popping concoctions,
Arkan-sause of the Covenant, toilet unclogged,
And the poorbox paid for missions & celebrity adoptions.
The naked male boy hid on top above the confessional,
While Preach extended his sublimation to the Poppycocks Clans,
Hush up & listen to the abysmal recessional.
Old Preach would have seduced him, but for his translucence,
Prudence! & a possom's ass were his only friends.
The days of his youth have shortened for tuppence.
Exploding whales in the wilderness, on which it all depends,
As the suburbs expanded, he avoided the wintry folk.
His form always perfect, radiant with no defense,
Bidden & unhidden by a thrift-store invisibility cloak.
The bottoms of his feet were thick from shoe-less wandering,
The fertile diversity of an ancient coral reef,
His ankles resembled a 1950's glamor magazine.
His tiny adolescent urinater, inspired true belief,
All symmetrical, all peachy, an angel pariah,
Yes, at age eight, he still had all his baby teeth,
Stepping to the center of the stage, his aria:
“I am holy in the forests of Arkansas.
“The Monarchs flit about me like a flower.
“The shrubs scrape my skin, but Jesus is my Mantra.
“A boy who can reactivate the pastoral power,
“So the city is not ready for natural nudity,
“I play on. Before the coward I will cower.
“My creator God knows I am all the planet's beauty.”