Clap Trap

talk listen forgiveness how many times sin, repetition who believes this bunk this self righteous whining on oligarchies thrive on our sin sins they have created for just this to contain the life of us, to feed them The cubby hole retains its darkness as it should for it contains us and what they see as our blackened souls. The perforated screen between secludes and excluded as it intrudes on the inner workings of our guilt. Our guilt, the guilt they've orchestrated, and mined, since sperm met egg. These men of the cloth castrated by their own hands, cloaked in black and white, bathed in gray: sit and meat out the justice of the Lord in Hail Mary's? incense burns masking the scent of sweat -- petals fall *Etheree & Prose poetry & haiku