A poem for the wide-eyed drink pourer…
A curse on you and I
An Apple, a peach
in any case, a lie
Till and plow and conquer
Subdue matter, the mother
Wake her up, divide her her secrets
It’s light that blinds the eye
You toil and whine
Of the curse divine?
Center stage, this ape
while he calls us His kind?
And his god is him?
And what am I?
Whisper of conscience
Apple of his eye
And now I labor
Twice the curse;
Split open, sown fields
And carry the purse?
No. I prefer not.
But if it be so
Twice the winnings for twice the curse
And power, god dammit!
for this, my woe