A Simple Place

Some Spirit has prepared a place of infinite emotion,
wonders for the senses to inherit and devour
until we are taken into the belly
of the fish of the underworld.
There we will lie and live and breath steam
from the lips of the joyous creatures
who sing the alma mater
of God's magnificent, merciful tastes.
Savoring every second that we wait
for the bloody elevator to pause
and descend into the Janitor's closet,
where we may accept the wrath
of the acidic trash bin,
we hold hands and feel our peeled skin.
The thinnest pages prophesized
our demise and rebirth.

Damn the God-given cerebral cortex,
for it intellectually infected me.
Dirty medicine was given to inspire
and dictate our lives
from gold-plated pulpits with a side slot
for the walking stick of Moses,
but used to condemn an after hours hustler
and take her blessings,
in order to stop her from robbing God.
Idols were given out to worship,
and we licked the nails of Christ,
getting flesh locked
between our teeth,
disregarding the meanings of death.

We all abhored the savages,
those whose erections were unclean
and abominable to our comforts
as they lusted and we loved.
Enfants we sacraficed in God's name
and we dictate the lives of a widow and zygote.
The precepts must be obeyed,
as long as we recite a prayer of repentance
or bribe the high priest
and allow him to bribe our children
because of our universal secrets of shame.

We walked on the mountain with oval cups
and lied down to rest in a better world
than Damned Earth,
as martyrs of Christ and Muhammad.
We give in order to get,
whether for heaven or blessings of anti-water,
the power that drives our intentions
and discards the Africans,
whose elephants crowd our rooms.
The great parables we lacked knowledge of the
meanings and walked to our genocide,
taking our faith with us.
Our metal minds condemned the working cortex.

Generation after generation has suffered
in this place that our minds have fabricated
for imperial salvation.
The self-righteous are the most disappointed
and scream the highest,
refusing to hold hands,
still waiting for their God,
shouting the litany of Job
and others who've suffered.
They are so adament
in holding on to a dead tradition.
I have buried my Bible years ago,
only they have branded that Christ-like name
into my subconcious,
where it constantly conflicts with my birth.