Friday the thirteenth of July, and
I realize that there is something else you may not
know, Clabber Girl married the same
lechery twice, double acting. August bride
already married when she wore wedding gown like
rolls of clouds, mantilla veil stretching across church
whose parking lot of official sins, like this asphalt was just as thin,
as Judie man who officiated at the ceremony, new mother-in-law
talked for days I’ve been told about the
magnificence marrying her son, bride who had
nothing baking in her oven despite
all the clabbering, non-canonical at that.
Of course, sun was shining as that is what
such solar installations do, Judie man, pastor who
slept with members of congregation (another
clabbering fact). Pulpit
resembled high chair, rickety
at best, maybe one able to descend in tar and make
it bubble again, no matter how many Dantean Circles must
be traversed to rise unfettered in Terre Haute Indiana.
Home of
Clabber Girl Baking Powder Corporation,
its circular driveways built for Nemos of orange
world-class as dynamic as
mapped maze of blazes, fire one
and still no breakfast in bed where pillow is filled, stuffed
with clabber stuff instead of feathers —as if nothing
had been plucked that could get off the ground, nothing
that begins with H, no Helium filled floating, as the clabbering,
blubbering Bride was already married, so that she
could return to school already wife
whose very judgement was stifled
despite Mystery Date promises
remembered too late: what kind of church was this?
Former bar!
My father quick to see
hypocrisy that Judie eyes never saw, unable to read, not his
fifth-grade fault, the Lord, sometimes the lard
also helped with unleavened communion wafers,
flat bread for flat lands often discovered by ants
and other insects, not Lucifer, highest angel, who achieved
as school teaches is desirable,
especially for mi-
nori-teases
Head Angel, and did not get his due, too much power, excessive
clabber, rival Kingdom.
My father knew the rigamarole
of rigged political systems: Lucifer
as bright as he was, brighter
even than my wedding gown’s matching mantilla veil
doomed from the start, look at all the good he did in Eden
where all he did is tell the truth about Sex, something they needed
to Know; instead of just mouths hungry for the True Clabber, those
Tablets of Ten Commandments: do what I say or perish, have no
“other gods” before me, implying there are others; two tablets
nothing like aspirin: “acetylsalicylic acid”
in a pocket of “apothecaries” no closer
to that apotheosis of my mantilla veil, risen by Clabber Girl
Baking Powder Corporation’s proven ability to sanctify Rising,
and rising just seeking simple glory really
although can cause Kawasaki dis-ease, and Kawasaki is brand
of Motorcycle Ken’s now enshrined bike, for he knew what
not to do with 17-year-old Girl,
but Motorcycle Ken returned as you, and then that Clabber
did its rising stuff; no stopping your stored fuel of
ability and agility when I was ready for it:
Entire clabbering hordes, not just toothpaste frothing in mouths,
A Clabbering Takeover.
This is truly how much I care about you
smiling at me always even if necessary from
silvering twilight of Judas Trees: “Cercis siliquastrum,”
rich display of deep pink flowering aneurysms every
Spring.
Thylias Moss in collaboration with Mr. Bob Holman.