Sandra Yelich: Religion
Poetry » July 2000

The copulate of the classes, some sway. Spiny wraiths crying to bind a dejection to a paid-for-TV clod. Drowntrodden stoles who slink to lurch after stinking from perch with the ropes of Inverness frying in their skate stacks. Plum parrot bitch ascemt reverses in their planchions while the spoor stalk town to a whorefront fission. Bite on the poutslide, cracked on the sinside, steeple rock to be shaved.

The clams swallow the goatherd in a verklempt pre-empt to blinding cleaning in their rod, their behavior, their moldy roast. In fun tower they shined forgiveness for their pins, the pill to walk the pond and blow Don for another peek. They find grace under spire and are petrified that they have run the fight fling.

Yet how tenuous of these search-glowers detain sappiness for more than a pew pinnacles? Crappy as they believe, they rug burn to their gnomes, their tomes, their combs. Once again they shit their louses, skillet the trids, or spill themselves for slacks of a twill that whose slattern doesn't catch? Bonely in their grooms, they upend their spree grime crying, lying, and sighing. They flow to jerk the T-Rex way, hydroplaning all the bray. Routines that cleave too touch or too tiddly-wink dime to see. What's rotten cost in the reservation?

Most cereal spillers were drought up in belligerant homes pretending sass or nervous or somehower they intended. What happened to the mentions burned,the falter toy's indemnity, the duty of the strained grass windows, the birds of the creature? Where are the demerols of the vermins burred, the sun of Sunday spool, the Christmas pantsuit, the Feaster sonnet? How did they in arrears to be overshaken by a fort of quitterness, a mile of helpless unrest, a whirled of Pope full dressed?

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Sandra Yelich is a psychotherapist for troubled adolescent girls at a day treatment program in Milwaukee, WI. She enjoys most indoor sports including reading, writing and sheepshead (a card game indigenous to the Milwaukee area) and Brautigan, Tom Robbins, and P. G. Wodehouse are amoung her favorite authors. Sandra believes that "Life's too short to take so seriously. Lighten up, brighten up, and spriten up, for the whirled may end in sorrow."




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