Motherland
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"Motherland"
The “Removed”,
Charlestons across the keyboard,
fingers have a personality and a mind
of their own, don’t you agree?
the stalwart mind converses with the frivolous fingers
its stark increduality, considers All above All
they’re incorrigible, those lithe fingers,
like feathers they flutter in the stark
glow of an illuminated screen
in a dark void
those fingers, dance
cutting black and white freedom
slicing pieces of life neatly like a cake
icing and all, of that stolen kalleidoscope dream,
stepping stones,
skimming wilfully across each key those fingers go,
the mouth performs the mind’s thoughts,
whispers expletives, under the breath, quite regularly,
"no never," is unheard by no one,
but heard by the speaker
"not on my watch,
not me, no never" says She,
hard shot, chalked and outlined,
corner pocket, the black ball drops into the net
the white balls drop numerously
around her,
still, She conveys with ice cold conviction,
"no never, not on my watch, not me"
no genuflecting here
will remove the stain of bedlam in Sodom’s smalls
and their theological Gomorrah’d degrees
priests and their black habits, antithetical
...backtrack,
correct that,
like a pale confession
other side of the lattice
antithesis,
blood beads touched,
oily, like a reptile,
like a lizard,
each one,
no f**k it, the thoughts bleed,
leave those horrendous feral f***k*rs in ...
to drown deep
in their convenient fonts,
those other small crushed fontanelles
they touched with unclean hands unblessed,
spent like pennies,
golden showered,
the filth undercovers unfrocked
unholy held with no rite
savoured
to be absolute,
out in the cold,
for All
to be seen
nonchalently abandoned
on the road side of it all
out in the cold;
the poetic dignigity of a kept and hidden dream
kisses the innocent, there is zero integrity
zero.
observe betrayal of the gullible naive,
there, trust burnt praying before an alter, on its knees
hidden deadly
the alleged Godly,
with its unleavend bread,
it’s blood wine and priestly collar, stiff,
buttered up
all in hand…all in hand
greasy,
quite regularly
matins are massaged
out of the silent voices of the undone
tears spill like buckets of burley for sharks
and well-oiled megalthons rise
from the deepest depths of dark
move upward
and up on;
out in the backyard,
unicorns prance with butterflies
sincere and purely innocent,
the Unaware
have their shining ivory swords ripped out
like teeth
waiting for the Tooth Fairy, knowing all too well
that one
is not close, not near,
but in more than 6ft deep;
Motherland
mind
body
and soul
never misses Her beat
watching over the innocent
‘neath black robed
circling crows
sly foxes and their islands
all connected, like a map, streets marked
no sanctuary
as if in a church lost,
nowehere to be found;
She watches on
She watches ever on
Not on Her watch,
believe it,
Trouble
with a capital “T”
burnt catechisms
in the Motherland
warnings
to the younger
eyes not opened
minds to be opened
the message
passed on
Not on Her watch,
believe it,
Trouble
with a capital "T"
immersive:
Death Penalty.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
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