Joan of Arcadia - B. Dolan

Joan of Arc had a dildo named Jesus

Made of wood from the cross of its namesake

She considered the splinters atonement

And when she came it would fill her with light!

Her body was an ocean full of wreckage

Her flesh was a map of hell

That spilled out the sides of her dresses

The flabby arms of modern surrender

A smothering mother’s body

Body like a black hole

Pulling calories and emotion and her many children to her

She was childless

She was alone

She found comfort in the bible

A gravity like her own

Promising always to pull her down before she floated into space

(and space was the place she feared most)

Staring out her window

Distant planets were cold

Until a voice came to her in the night

She was sitting in her kitchen it was flooded with light

And she wandered out into her backyard

Wearing nothing but her house dress

And there

Behind the racist lawn status and the plastic fountain

She saw her hedges in flames!

«speak to me lord» she said

And the world would never be the same

«speak to me lord» she said

I killed a queer for Christ and didn’t even get a thank you letter

I let Jesus take the wheel and he drove me off the road

And though i know

He only did that shit to test my faith

I’m saying.

Nothing

I’m praying

About it

I’m asking god to keep the lights on and shrink my tumors

And keep em from privatizing my job and to reach those in power!

Those who forsake this nation by not crushing the wicked &

Them who will not burn the world out of their body

Those who refuse to kneel

Them who choose the wheel

Those demons walking the earth

Building evil empires

Threatening from outside

I know that Satan

The stranger

The foreign

The invader

Is the creator of Mexican immigrants and Al-Qaeda

And lord I’ll understand if you want the earth to be flooded again

In fact my faith could melt an iceberg if you ever need a hand

Just deliver me and mine to the Promised Land

Joan of Arc had a dildo named Jesus

Made of wood from the cross of it’s namesake

And her orgasms were all omens

When she came it would fill her with right!

And when the light had finally left her

She lay ruined across her sheets

Her mouth unhinged

Her shape like a victim

Murdered, in a sleep without dreams

Joan of Arc was a warrior poet

And she baptized the world in flame

And she never stopped to wonder, for even a moment

Why «Jesus»

Never came