You're a hideous creature.
A disgusting slave
To your emotions
Of lust and pain.
Have some self respect.
Give yourself some love.
But irksome are you;
your yields are not enough.
Familiarise yourself
with self control; restraint.
You're a demon imp,
Though claim to be a saint.
Neither prayers nor witchery
Can help you now.
For all your life,
to this idol you've bowed.

I’ve studied the lore of your Dark Arts.
I’ve read the book; I’ve learned it by heart.
But try as I may, I can’t play the part.

Though I know spells, and magic potions,
and practice the craft, with much devotion,
of the powers you wield, I haven’t a notion.
Black magic eludes me;
I’m not one of the chosen.

Though I can’t cast a spell in the way that you do,
with practicing magic, I don't think I"m through.
I find I enjoy the study and ritual--
in fact, I believe I may make it habitual.

The spirits I summon do clearly insist
that I work forever, as their alchemist.
This servitude, I accept with pride.
The end unknown, I’m enjoying the ride.

You're the Dark Lord; you are the master--
I may never achieve the goal that I’m after.
But on I toil, a servant of magic--
a lifelong apprenticeship--joyful, not tragic.

The Monetary Moai
Standing on the shore
Making sure you worship them
Making sure they get more.

More of your offerings
More of your respect
Even if the have to take you
And hang you by the neck.

The Moai are important
With their grant-faced stare.
You may or may not like them
But they don’t have to care.

They are the gods to you,
And you the fools that revere them.
You put them on their pedestals;
Stop others from coming near them.

You, the ones who refuse
To question them and their power
Have made them the gods they are
Right up until their final hour.

It they ever revert to the truth
As just strange hunks of stone
Maybe then you will leave them
Ignored, disintegrating and alone.

But as long as these monoliths
Represent something good to you
There is nothing that the rest of us
Can, by resisting them, can ever do.

We can talk and chant and rant
And tell you that you are all fools
But it was your hands that put them up
Your effort, superstitions and tools.

Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?

I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?

How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,

or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?

Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.

Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.

Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.

Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.

Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.

Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,

Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.

Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,

And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.

An avalanche.
Rocks coming stumbling towards me. The warmth of lava makes me perspire but when I run fast, progress is recessed.
Languish buries my feet from underneath. My only supplies are useless... the desire to leave my heavy knapsack is relentless. The rush for survival going on, you think it would be first to dispose... but I am latched onto materialism

Even though false idols like Baal no longer exist, many people still idolize things today.
These people idolize money and *** when they should only idolize Jehovah God always.
God is offended when people idolize things other than him, it's something that he hates.
If you're such a person, you'd better change because it's something God won't tolerate.
God is the only one who should be idolized, not other wicked things.
People who idolize anything other than God had better watch out because disaster is what it will bring.

She plays black, then blue, then green and red and yellow,

Then translucent and impatient;

Messy and aggravated.

She fumbles,

Then runs full speed -

Touches the wall

and back again towards you.

Spread arm'd and clinched fist'd.

Clinched teeth and mismatched socks.

Haphazard hair and ****** complexion.

You slit eyes and wink and shine on oh great shining thing,

Until the dust of her lay at your feet.