Punch-drunk Piety

the ones grabbing His lapels and hollering “Speak up, sonny!”
and don’t worry about staining the carpets.

And we like It that way.

You who put God on a shelf
Who pull Him out once or twice a year to look at and sigh over
Who wrap Him in chains of fear and “can’t”
Ought to be ashamed of yourselves
For not knowing all the Fun you’re missing.

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