Sometimes a
revolution is appropriate; a contrarian has a point, but no alternative agenda
Which requires
shedding one’s volition, life is not meant wading from raft to raft,
But to swim in the
ocean we all evolved from, but water itself becomes entitled property
The biology of our
limbs becomes a negotiable asset bought and sold at market
Until the price
tag wanders into our minds
So that all we
think about is how he got his and how I am going to get mine
And the signs are
on every steeple pointing to a mystical quasi-arbiter of justice
Passing verdict on
the exchanges we partake with if you abide then you are okay
To have that, to
do that, to assume that my goodness will not be taken advantage of
By the wolf in the
litter breaking command to murder, to steal, to sow salt on a man’s land
The dustbowl it
swells and the people turn to the cloth to swaddle in and be told
That not all is
lost, that there will be a day, judgment will come
Where the first
shall be last and the last will become
The blessed the
loved, the treasured sheep, the analogies blatant
Yet still the
Sabbath we keep in whispers of atonement mesmerized in tombs with
Inscriptions and
rituals bystanders keep vigil chanting spells to Our Father
Creator of all
that either He is powerless, doesn’t care or exist
Pick one for the
wall bricked in by generations of horses run through the stall
Saddled and
battled and bloodied and shoed, exhausted and accosted for dreaming
The view that
ration had a seat at that table, that maybe all we needed was to say
Hey people, the
magician is a fake;
A maze of a man we
made up in the sky
To pit me against
you and entwine him and I
That we think the
same so we are ok, but
Not that brother
he wore the wrong shoe to the race
Tax him and burn
him, and most of all fear
Fear his rituals
and motivations unclear
Question his
motives and hijacked intentions
Stitch up a flag
and start digging the trenches
Don’t know the
words to his prayers or see his life as equal
Blade to the
infidel and see the devil in his steeple
Pop out in polite politics;
get sophisticated with lawyers and blow down his sticks
Masons unload with
mortar and stones hurled from tithes from St. Petersburg to Rome
Take away land,
sweep the leg, do you understand
A man cannot grow
through prison without a gang; baptized in until death do us part
Is part of the
game to wear cult symbols round necks and hung over doorways
The language
tattoos across foreheads that make man think sideways
Scrub them all
off, get back to the nudity of birth; quit slicing off penis halos
And start digging
down in the Earth
To see the human
DNA from single cell to present day
Of what we are and
what we are not; argued for to a peaceful stop
Of the nonsense to
see the lions tear the flesh off the gazelles
Avoiding the
selfish nature by dubbing it hell
If you break
ranks, the collective church will castigate you and your kin
Instead of calling
it wrong we scripted it sin
But My, Oh My!
Where is the line, where wrong became rite?
Changing Caesar’s
coins in the tossed salad by oil light
Burning and
keeping watch of how much is left before the hour is naught
Armageddon arrives
and Gabriel’s trumpet sounds
The only
segregation was made in the pounds of apathy
Strutting around
grouping pasture after pasture as this and that sheep
As if the names,
the necklaces, the jewelry bedazzled was not a hindrance
Instead of the
passport to the flying ascension to cut in line at the end
For a lifetime of
penance, counting the hours of kneeling at the mat
The rosary beads
felt between fingers, the mediation with a clock and a compass
To set arbitrary
direction to one’s conscience as assigned in stone
By some greater
than man breathing long ago
No comments:
Post a Comment