Over in the fine pages of TLR, Mark Bibbins is spitting root beer down your back and calling it the tears of Christ. Like poor Linda Blair, his head is on backwards, and he’s speaking in special-effect tongues:
First I was fellating an African despot
for his diamonds, next I was payinga hooker to give me back
my teeth. You think I’m kiddingabout the diamonds; I was looking
also for some gold.
His long poem “Pat Robertson Transubstantiation Engines” recontextualizes the found fang-drool of 700 Club co-bigot and Robertson, whose batshittery provides a wild stomping ground for Bibbins. His TV preacher is all spittle and sacrament, dropping psychedelic chestnuts:
One day Jesus will hit us
like a ton of marijuana biscuitsbut some of you won’t be around
to see it
