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Sunday, January 29, 2012


i had been reading
that book about jfk why he died
when the new preacher
paid a visit completely unannounced
and there was nothing
to do but let him in although
i do my best to keep
everybody away from here
a house which like
the title of the book is
unspeakable and
i stopped him at the kitchen
i mean i don't even
visit the living room myself
with its clawed-up furniture and powder-white
turds and the lingering
smell of cat piss and the preacher
an erudite man obviously
(what lutheran minister is not?)
asked me if i liked the book
and i said yes but like most of
the jfk efforts what else can
it reveal still it was far better
than that chris matthews
pastiche he calls a labor of love
and hawks at every opportunity
while unspeakable
has a distinct point of view
evolving from its title
i said which
is drawn from thomas merton's book
raids on the unspeakable
a concept he defines as a disorder of such
magnitude it can be broken open
only by a miracle
but when i mentioned merton's name the preacher
crossed his arms in front of him
and pursed his lips and brought forth
a reaction of almost unspeakable loathing merton he spat
that papist monk!