Stungun




	The Stun-gun of God Reverend Benny Hinn has the stun-gun of God right there in his hand entrusted to him by the Almighty Himself who sends him messages right there on the air he closes his eyes to listen yes Lord yes Lord I hear you he’s pacing it's building up then he starts to zap them one by one a jolt that sends them rigid backwards never forwards or sideways all the same explosive knocked rigid and backwards by the stun-gun of God full of the Holy Ghost and Yahweh they're lucky now and healed they walk forwards now not backwards or sideways unafraid of the Devil now without that walker without that cane miracles without number every day that if you could just pray right and for an undisclosed sum that call us now and we'll disclose I want to feel the Holy Spirit I want to get hit by the stun-gun of God and hear holy voices not these I been hearing by myself all this time it must feel so good feel so new feel so happy the smiling faces get out of that old wheel chair of infirmity and doubt cast it off I command thee get up and walk in the light of God away from this Hell still tingling with the current of God's love how long does it last call us now the lines are open Copyright 2000 by H. L. Rucks. All rights reserved.

   Rainy Day Woman

In a blaze of imminent trouble I see it, like a lightning stroke
outside the window. It's been raining for five days now, and
Melanie is in one of her "funks". She's angry with me because
it's raining, as if I were some kind of hydrological druid and could
go fix it. Though, of course, she'd never admit that's why she's
angry. She thinks it's either because my conversation is stale or I'm spending too much time reading instead of boring her with my stale
conversation. For her part, she sits over there with her dress
up over her head and sews a rose on her blouse with that look
on her face as if she can't make up her mind whether to spit or
to scream. If it rains again tomorrow she’ll go berserk and
throw my clothes out the window. I must put them someplace
where they’ll be safe .

   Copyright 2000 by H. L. Rucks. All rights reserved.

   Rude Awakening Rude

   You wake up suddenly and the test pattern

   Is on the TV and the Angel of Death is perched

   On the lamp stand wielding a sword

   And taking practice swings as though it were a golf club

   And the trouble is you've been sober for many months

   And can't get your mind around the idea of yourself

   Without yourself, and so much still incomplete, still unresolved,

   So much still muddled and misunderstood

   But you can't explain any of this to the Angel of Death.

   Copyright 2000 by H. L. Rucks. All rights reserved.


	I Decorate, Therefore I Am "Everything in the place, she said, "expresses me. The books, the rug, the chairs, the dinette, the Ashtrays, the bathroom fixtures, the prints, the plants, the lamps, the end tables, the pastel walls, the bedspreads-- even the pots and pans . . . I who bought them, assembled them, placed them in proximity to myself just so am the architect of my stage and the artist of my days." Copyright 2000 by H. L. Rucks. All rights reserved.

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