Everything Under The Sun Ecclesiatical Version Poem by nathan martin

kindney stone children out from god
passing through blood and blindfolded
angels.

Passing on the left with turn signals
flashing. Heading further north past the
the rock of gibraltar foaming at the mouth.

Past a lighthouse with two poorly dressed
custodians who drive Chrysler lebarons
and hand out brochers.

But these people are tired of brochers
filled with empty promises and lurid
excitements.

They need manna from heaven and
Hebrew national corn dogs.


now im pretty sure there is a proverb
in the headlights of a 92 corolla which
passes by impregnated robotic dragon
flies.

they are reminded of the sun dried
opaque
exo-skeletal bugs lying along the back of
the rear window.

somehow they seem more motionless and
beautifully tranquil than before.

but there is nothing more to be said
nothing more to be seen here under the
sun.