A sparkling, spangling
Of self dusted pain
I've stayed in the tragedy
While the comedy has gained
A comedian in rain
She tells her jokes
In little spurts
One liners that
Come out like
Cruise missiles
Sent to destroy
All the boys and all their toys
Floating
Of in the world of grey
I wish she could be
Commander of my heart
Battleship destruction
On a course for Pluto
And all those rallied rapido nuns
Who search in their pockets
For guns
At border crossings
Because each crossing is a crucifix
On which we get hung
Out, or straightened out
Like a lead roof tile
Beaten until all doubt
Leaves us blind to the facts of life
And we realize it was she
Mother Teresa of Calcutta
Lady of the Black Hole herself
Who pointed south when she met wealth
and they doubled over, begged, and genuflected
To be in her grace so well reflected
Yet nothing can suffer their reprieve
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