M[oral] Cruci[fixation]

Preachers serve up sundaes

Of opiated scripture,

Pass around collection baskets

Full of black and white sprinkles

And a communion wafer cone:

Self-serving soft-serve that

Chills the masses

And kills en masse —

Indiscriminate and fair:

Punishing all who dare

To seek a handout or

A helping hand — but fear not!

Forty days of dessert await

The worthy and the meek.

Not looking for sweets?

Get the bloodied lamb with mint jam;

Eat of its body, an indulgent little thing —

Saints be praised!

Loaves and fishes and food stamp sheets,

Surf and turf but on separate plates —

Separate checks, separate balances,

Separate the church from its estates;

Their cups runneth over

At the fusion buffet.

Second comings, third helpings:

You can’t afford not to sell your soul

For bottomless salads and dinner rolls*

*Ingredients: Mana from Heaven —

Contains gluten; unleavened

If you’re looking to stay in,

It’s a sin to miss these deals!

Blessed art the two-for-ones,

For man shall not live on bread alone —

Better get the stuffed crust

And the garlic knots: an immaculate pair.

Deliverance by the Third Day or your money back!

For a quick fix, there’s a throughline:

Opt for the drive-by shooting

In the drive thru line:

A sacrificial offering on company time.

“I’d like one disorder of everything please!”

Would you like to Deify it for an extra buck?

Spiritual nourishment in a

Carpenter's Cup (™)

Or grab it as a combo meal —

Holy-Size with the Cruci-Fries?

Hold the lettuce, keep the tithe.

Let us pray, let us try to be

True shepherds that lead their flocks

To an open-door slaughterhouse

Here in the McDonaldland of the Free,

Home of the Whopper:

Pastoral beef that's fresh, never frozen,

With extra government cheese, please.

Pierce the McRib of the bloated carcasses

Of gilded idols and Happy Meals

(That come with microplastic rosary beads —

Collect all 40!)

And out spills the Kool-aid, sickly sweet,

Trickling down from false prophets

And their true profits,

Filet'O Fishers of men

Who push proverbs and prove nothing,

Who prey upon the weak

Six days a week,

Only resting on a resentful sabbath.

So intertwined are the

McNuggets of wisdom within scripture

And the fundamentalist status quo —

Cannibalized flesh

Caramelized onions —

Enough leftover elitism to last generations,

To outlast spotlights and ratlines:

Crafted libations —

Communal whining —

That cleanse the palate

And wash away the taste of iron,

Of red dye 40 — those colors don't run!

Better to know the devil than to place a tax

On sodas that keep the livestock fat —

Blessed art those who clean their plate

And still return with open hearts, empty wallets;

Blessed be the extra drizzle, added IV drip

That fills a holey spirit to its brim.

Do you want nutrition? Here's the facts:

Fasting is a tool used by the fed.

Fast casual fast food never slakes;

Rather, it creates addiction and forever takes,

Fills the deep pockets of its

Good and faithful public servants

And leaves calorie-deficient platitudes

Where instead there should be abundance.

It’s easy to revamp a menu when your belly’s full

And empty proverbs belie broken attitudes

And an indifference to the many mouths

That praise the lord and still go without.