Friday Poem: Pardon Me for Sinning


Searchable text after the jump: 



My soul is in more peril than a fool like me can tell,

According to the upshot of the warnings that you yell,

For God is a perfectionist whom only blood can quell

And all my human decency just don’t amount to beans.


I see you every morning near the F train and the L,

Just railing at a table with the sermon tapes you sell.

I didn’t take your flier, but perhaps it’s just as well.

If Heaven’s full of folks like you, I’d rather go to Queens.



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