Blood Harvest'

Hay is threshed by the rotor blades,
Hay along with the arms,
Legs, and heads of the milking maids,
Down on the carrion farms.

Farmer Misogynist reaps his yield
Satan nurtured the crop
Psychopathology wet the field
Whing! Now the rotor blade lops!
07-10-91

High-Wire Walk

The tight-rope of salvation
Is a straining, wire-taut strand
You inch along on foot-chafed trepidation
Defying Satan’s law of gravitation,
God’s balance-pole inside your hand.

Below, the audience is cheering,
Your equipoise of faith precludes all fearing
Your toes assert their knowing, nimble grasp.
The platform, once so far, now’s nearing.
Step upon it! Crowd gives out a gasp
Satan curses with a hoarse and rueful rasp.
06-24-86