Non-Erotic PoetryLetter to a Fallen EvangelistDear James,
In the beginning was the word
From your former reach around girl
In News at Seven battle dress,
Revealing bogus memberships
That sound-bite slapped your suntanned wife
Pale Gothic with mascara stains.
Before the day they hauled away
Your televangelic voice,
Telephones rang like nickel slots
With white haired ladies there by eight,
The pit boss donned his business suit,
And floormen wheedled altar calls.
His kingdom come to think of it, James,
Now what could you possibly say?
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