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Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
the pinion of penetration which is pounded into your
skull at birth if you are ever so lucky enough to be
born into one of those families which hold the instrumental
notion of guilt production throughout a life to be one
that is of utmost importance comes
slamming
down
into
the
side
of
your
temple---
that loud unmistakeable
CLANG
of the iron hammer hitting the spike is
like a quick flash, a strobe of unidentifiable light,
something that ufo sighting squawkers remark about,
something that those caught in a lightening storm
insist upon in their detailed descriptions &
your whole life is scarred,
singed & sliced up into little
unalterable pieces of slavery, bondage & oppression of the
mind & body,
until that fine day upon which you yourself decide
to burn the whole basket o’
lies
in a huge bonfire that will be seen from the homes of believers
for miles & miles"
only then will you be free.

originally, the aramaic root “sin” coming from
“sinai,”
or “the wilderness of dirt”
describes filth,
and was only later morphed by the judeo-christian
warpers of history
to mean
wrong actions & wrong thoughts---
basically,
anything that hasn’t been already decided by
hypocrites who assure us of their “holiness.”

for those that abide by everything that they have been told
by everyone who has already established the status-quo of
the monotheisms of the world,
tip-toeing through life is an art
that can be learned through the ability
to attribute all
your hopes, dreams, successes & failures to
a master which you have never met,
which has already mapped out every step that you will
take,
and whom will judge the validity of your every
motivation,
penalizing you with eternal damnation, etc.
if you swerve only a smidgeon to your left or right of
that straight line
of which you had absolutely no say in
drawing.
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