They Still Let Him Preach

Here in the hide zone back road
no laundry up on the hills
to tear down but it is Benson
where out of money, stash
they all come creeping
some solace for the not so proud
Americans deep into the crystal
culturado dizzycon. Children
aren't wrapped proper nor guided
or guilded, the best families
are all on TV and beat up too
some run across the corpses
or hope to find someone lying down,
face in the mud. What kind of strange
luminosity is that I wonder
when the best hopes might be
her last look into the water
or tucked into a Samsonite,
a last little camera clicks.
Today it was Swaggart's son,
his father drummed his fingers
on his own knee and the money
rolled in to what I don't know.
I honestly don't know except
it is to say that they have to be
something or other, they
have to be something.