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Morning Coffee

by
 Reading the menu at the morning service: 
- Iced Venusberg perhaps, or buttered bum - 
Orders the usual sex-ersatz, and, nervous, 
Glances around - Will she or won't she come? 

The congregation dissected into pews 
Gulping their strip teas in the luminous cavern 
Agape's sacamental berry stews; 
The nickel-plated light and clatter of heaven 

Receive him, temporary Tantalus 
Into the Lookingglassland's firescape.
Suckled on Jungfraumilch his eyes discuss, The werwolf twins, their mock Sabellian rape.
This is their time to reap the standing scorn, Blonde Rumina's crop.
Beneath her leafless tree Ripe-rumped she lolls and clasps the plenteous horn.
Cool customers who defy his Trinity Feel none the less, and thrill, ur-vater Fear Caged in the son.
For, though this ghost behave Experienced daughters recognize King Leer: Lot also had his daughters in a cave.
Full sail the proud three-decker sandwiches With the eye-fumbled priestesses repass; On their swan lake the enchanted icecreams freeze, The amorous fountain prickles in the glass And at the introit of this mass emotion She comes, she comes, a balanced pillar of blood, Guides through the desert, divides the sterile ocean, Brings sceptic Didymus his berserk food, Sits deftly, folding elegant thighs, and takes Her time.
She skins her little leather hands, Conscious that wavering towards her like tame snakes The polyp eyes converge.
.
.
.
The prophet stands Dreading the answer from her burning bush: This unconsuming flame, the outlaw's blow, Plague, exodus, Sinai, ruptured stones that gush, God's telegram: Dare Now! Let this people go!

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