Phillumenist

I lost the matchsafe that held the match
That could light the fireworks
That would shoot god from the sky.
I was packed in a cannon on a street that went
Under a church because there was no way
Around it. My crackling balls, blooming snakes,
And roman candles on a fuse
That wrapped around genesis, up Eve’s
Lovely crotch, down the ambulatory of every cathedral
(Which were set ablaze with the setting sun),
Straight through the crucified Jesus’ nipple,
All up and down the lonely streets
Of Anytown, USA, and into the lofty
Heavens out of reach of my propeller hat,
And all I had to do was light the snake-like
End of the thing. Goddammit,
I said, rubbing two sticks together, which left stigmata
The size of smoke bombs on my palms.
It was getting dark. Pale smoke from chimneys
Curled up between the stars. I ate a Moon Pie,
And decided to leave it to the next guy,
Who was born of the fourth of July.