Woman preacher,
they don’t believe a word you say,
standing up there, talking.
Your breasts shifting when you raise your hands
in praise.
Serve him!
Preacher thing,
tend the bar.
Offer the blood and the bones of Christ.
You do so well,
woman preacher.
Give up your body
to the hungry
and their devouring looks.
Impregnate the world.
Girl thing.
No one is listening.
What God do you praise?
Which one?
Which stool holds the god-man
you serve?
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