Squat Seduction

On a physical search for God or angel
or Satan or devil or some other entity
good or bad or indifferent to us.  

Looking
for transcendence
in an abandoned liquor store
behind the wasp-ruled chest cooler.  

Sitting
behind it, not caring for stings one bit, sucking
a pipe full of our last kind bud.  

Searching for God or angel
devil Satan Green Man
or just Not-A-Narc today, someone
just as smooth stony as the pipeful.  

Seek
and ye shall find — was that the Bible or was that
our school librarian who said that?

Spark it up, at any rate.
Looking for something deep,
for certain, in these ruins.

If the TV alien hunters are remotely
not crazy or greedhead hucksters
when they do the same
among mounds and pyramids,

who would say there might not be
extraordinary beings
here in Sully’s Wreck And Carry.  

Maybe the wasps are little
demigods.  

Maybe there’s a snake in the cracked walk-in,
the way there was in Eden, the way there was in the vacant house
on Gutter Road, the way there was

when sex was the way we were seeking the Beyond
before we got this weed.  

Maybe we ought to try that again.  Fuck our way
past the wasps and the crap on the floor
because God’s a squatter too, I bet.

I bet God and the Devil prefer ruins to churches
and sticky floors to clean holy beds.

I’m telling you, God’s got a pipe in his mouth, baby;
whatchoo got for mine so we can pray?