An Old (Testament) Prose Poem

Scroll down to content

We’ve been Inter-coursing around, with why some want to “Lord It Over”, since Adam’s Rib decided to Pearly White that Golden Delicious. And once treed, we fear higher ground. Laid low, we whisper up, a local language, riffing in neighborhood punctuation, with the accent on block by block conceits.

Making myth, of the original mischief, we make material the first spit shined shibboleth: quick to lose its luster to the tongue wag, the tongue lash, the talk back, to talking down-but never listening until the blood flows and it all goes… Feudal.  Then, once again, we have to resort to the necessary rewind. Or, as I have taken to call it—“The Forbidden Fruit Loop.”

Add Your Insights

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: