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M Padin May 2016
Bureaucrats and clergymen
differ only in doctrine.

But their altars steam
with the blood
of untold innocents.

The Pope, Stalin, and ******—
all canvass the people
with warped visions
of Paradise.

(Oh, Celan, you saw it
too well.)

Bloodletting for peace...

Pitchforks stoke the fires
to make dainty foot warmers
for Moloch and Midas.
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
kenny Oct 2014
Je ne sais quoi
she don't got it no more.

They aborted it from her
when they sold her the
the false perfection elixir
that soul'd her out

Hook, line, and sink her
gut her,
fillet her.

Ctrl-alt-del the fetus,
the sacrifice of the inner-child.
Molested into the machinery of Moloch

He butchered
the absolute heart
of the poem of life
out of her body.

She stands naked
kicked into the prison pit
of existence

Now she's like *everybody
She's nobody.
This is an excerpt from a song I wrote from my Soul Punkera. It's titled "Fashioning the Object" It is influenced by an art exhibit of the same name I saw in Chicago a couple years back. It really changed my perspective on the way our beauty standards are flawed, and the disenchantment of the suffering models are put through to obtain perfection. A lot of the Soul Punkera itself is influenced by Ginsberg's Howl. So I make several references to it.

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