hope is found in patterns,
solidified by relics that are
revered and awed
in a behavior defined
as worship.
patterns are constructed
by meter and comprehended
as truth, enlightenment.
each pattern has a studio
light fixed on what is discerned
a ‘moral’ issue.
but outside the scope
of patterns and hope,
cycles end and invention relies
on disobedience.
science is learned, and in turn,
books are burned.
but language is beauty
and can never be scorched
from the mind,
only erased and cut out
of mouths.
tongues, feasts;
what are these people
doing? eating
their own tongues?
we should bind the religious
clerics as they have bound us
intellectually. gag them
with their robes,
defile them religiously.
as in the altar sacrificed
in turn,
giving up it’s organs
in order to stimulate another’s.
see them held captive,
and let them love
only the afterbirth, the christ.
strip god away, and forge
a masterpiece.
beautiful. smeared on the
canvas of life.
god dumped in a garbage bag,
suffocated and scrambled
like the yolk into the whites.
no one can wear white
now. i have offended
but consider the phrase
‘one man’s garbage
is another’s treasure’.