“…But, then again,…”
…But, then again, they know that prayers are cancers
And antidotes, and on the whole, they are
According to their own witness so far
As they can see. “But plaster
This across your billboards, Billy!”
If all the prayers of all the people
Are in equal answered, steeples
Pointing to the cosmos become but silly
Slot machines and hives from which
Creation’s blessings are fleeced while honey’s made to flow. Who, then,
Runs the trains and who is it hays the cattle; when
Are inroads construed; whose able hands apply the stitch
For hours in the night to forge another generation,…or launch the lance?
Labours lay no eggs at night, my friend and picnics raise no ants.