I walked into a church that smelled like ass.

I’d smelled worse at other churches.  

Wafers gone bad;  sepulchres soured by petty the squabblings over direship

A vestibule gone to the vaginas.

Religion can kiss my ass

But when my father told me to repent, I did.

He said he would disown me–Which, for a second felt like blessed parole.

But which five minutes later felt like a long, lost Michael Jackson song.

Daddy the Ditty, produced by the gloved one. A sacred song of

Street smarts and guitar riffs–rife with lawsuits and mayhem.

Daddy don’t disown me me. I’ll go to church.

I’ll repent.

But please: first give the altar an enema. Clear it of shenanigans.

Sweeten it with Gummy Bears and Sticky Faggots

I am your Son. I will be saved.

No matter what holy shit abounds.