“I know what I’ll do. I’ll give you a drachma!”
The landlady waves the electric bill,
eyeing me as if I were her lamb meant for slaughter,
but I am a she-dreamer of beautiful lips.
Jesus understands me, we speak the same tongue.
Amunet agrees, and envelops me in her generous embrace.
The cities understand, the blindness sees,
the blood of the innocents still flows as I cast
the curse of the fiery tongue on the Daemonion
after I’ve sacrificed myself to the world outside.
She burns at the doorstep, bills in embered hand…
O, how we do not forgive our debtors.
And glory be to the hellish tower of slaves!
Glory! Amen, oh Babylon!
I walk thy streets, bare and free.
Rabbi Isa, deliver me not from Evil.