The Gospel of St. Me: The Modern Testament

Yesterday I made a cross and nailed it to my hands to match my toga sandals and thorny hair
band
I traded in my truck for a used golden calf to fit my fad
Today I rode and wore and bore them to work

My boss called me into his office
Shouted “Off limits, out of dress code, I am messiah of this domain!”

But my cross was nailed on, so remained
My coworkers rushed in yelling hissing picketing whispering “It’s the newest trend, you’d better
hop on board, my friend, or else you ain’t our friend no more.”
Seeing I was pre-crucified, he knew not what to do, so cried “Please! Spare me! Give me a pay
raise, relieve my back pains, walk my dog, and above all talk!”
I walked out not knowing what to say

My coworkers commanded me to stay


My boss got down and prayed “Rake my lawn! Cure my headaches! I’ll pedicure
and kiss your feet!”
So I took a seat, hired a gardener, and handed him an advil
My yesterday’s equals today’s disciples pre-ordered their own crosses, put mortgages on
apartments to afford down payments
They asked me how to be, I showed them how to walk, they could only hear, not see, so I talked
the walk and they copied perfectly
Judas stopped in his tracks to ask

“How can you tell us how to walk? I bet I can make you trip and fall”


An elder says “And I saw you crawl”



Another winks and confides “Besides, your feet stink”




So I say “Fine, don’t bother to walk a bit, just sit like you sat,
And won’t you stop bothering me while you’re at it?”
They block my exit, order me to sit and stay while saying “We’ll carry you, ferry you where you

desire, sire, just give us more advice, we’ll follow twice as well, oh lord, deliver us from


vices!”
So I order “Eat your greens!” then order a burger they eye hungrily while silently munching

crunchy celery
I bring the four horsemen as guest speakers and open the seven seals for show and tell

I preach Dante’s words of hell and a televangelist’s affordable heaven


They line up to take pictures with the divine, annoyed I whine “You can’t confine



me to Polaroid”
They bring a stainless steel contract made of my facts on morality but my hands are tied bleeding

and seeping pus so they force me to fingerpaint my signature in blood and rust while


chanting “One of us!”
They parade me everywhere and back on a stage on their backs two by two but contras track me

The few shrewd reckon me


Beggars beckon me



Herped mouths kiss my feet




One hundred obese beasts crowd around to plead “Feed me, preferably meat”
Teleprompter politicians put on Armani coats to be seen wringing my limp hands for votes as

they bare bleached fangs for cameras that aren’t there
The synthetic pathetics stalk neon priests guarded by plastic knights who fight for wallets over

prophets and only crusade to pillage villages, loot and raid
Pothead head-phoned tone-deaf drones lazily stone me escape my message zone out to tapes of

wicca or bop kabbalah pirated because a dollar was too big a donation to the domination


of their denomination
Some big guy far out hiding high above behind the clouds mistakes me for a marionette so

lassoes me with strings he starts pulling to make me swing about to music so far away I


can’t make out
I criticize his craftsmanship say “You need to work harder, you’re off beat, don’t jerk so hard”

but he’s so high he can’t hear me so I cut my ties to him and pull my own strings or try


but just get them all twisted and tangled up and fall
Meanwhile transvestite rhinoplastied pinnochio walks by flamboyantly proclaiming “I’m a real

guy, from wooden head to toes” and when I say “Lies!” my own nose grows
Since all deities must be wise and above that pretty I proclaim the rest of the day a day of rest so

I can hide my overlarge beak but the cageless clipped wing parrots sing “It’s a test!” and


order me to speak
So I say “In sooth, the best politicians are Lee Harvey Oswald and John Wilkes Boothe. Van

Gogh’s masterpiece was hacking off a piece of his ear and Rimbaud did his best work


after he quit writing and disappeared to run guns to wars worth fighting”
And I try to run away inside to hide my nose but find its shrunk to its normal pre-lies size
So I shout from my throne “Materialism is evil, you must atone by giving me all you own til

your bank accounts go bust and your only furniture is dust”
They hop to and fro say “yes sir” with gusto throw tax deductible checks away swipe maxed out

credit cards in my a** and say “Salvation at last” before feelings of damnation hit fast
Their wives leave them they realize their leader deceived them and as their floods of problems

come we run on my friend’s yacht one by one where they cry with fiery eyes “It’s all lies!


A ship can’t do s*** but sit or sink with no mast or sail and you fail at catching



wind”
They rail “We can’t buy a motor or lifeboat or vest since investing with interest in you now

we’re broke but we lived the rest of our lives like kings before you spoke!”
I try to say “Enlightenment has a price, there’s no win without a fight, you cannot fast and sup”

But they interrupt “Let us make your cross the mast fast before we starve or we’ll eat


your blood and body and carve your skin into the sails you failure you sinner we



need a martyr for our cause”
A pause
I think on how Homer winked with both eyes then realized then wrote that beauty’s power smote

a boy and consequently Troy


I notice those who smoked since they were lads populate the anti-smoking ads



I remember that reading Naked Lunch made me afraid to try junk




I realize that even the Nazis were aware that Hitler had dark eyes and hair
But I just say “Ok, if you must have a sacrifice take away my golden calf,

Anyway it’s out of gas, hurts my a**, and don’t move too fast”
Then I split quick before they can think poke holes in their boats so they’ll sink not follow my

corrupt ideas borrowed from other inept leaders
Tomorrow I think a white collar suit and tie will fly better than a doomed savior costume so I

toss my cross across my room and take out my bleached button down straightjacket and


black silk noose
Anyway, I’d rather be comfortable than fashionable any day





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

ZiXiang Z. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 8, 2010 at 12:18 pm
I've been reading stuff on Teen Ink for awhile now, and I must say, your works really wow me. I love your style, and your topics! Are you in high school by any chance? Here is a poem I wrote (called Cambridge at Night): http ://www.bostonliterarymagazine .com /fall09quick.html. I feel like we have a similar way of looking at things.
 
ezrazimmerman said...
Sept. 17, 2009 at 7:50 pm
****, sorry everyone, the format got completely screwed up here. it's not supposed to look like this at all.
 
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