Rules

No pastor practices what they will preach.
They speak of forgiveness to stack the deck,
because it’s easier to fleece a sheep
than wolves that bite back and aim for the neck.

Those who can’t do will teach you to be cruel
by bending the rules when it suits their desires.
Morality enslaves. Only the fool
hath said of his own heart it is a liar.

Each heresy erects a wall and deems
it truth, but what is truth? Limitations
appeasing gods unseen except in dreams,
and dreams? Reality’s resignation.

Apostate to all ideology
unshackles life’s endless possibility.

Nostalgic for You

I never considered you more than a friend,
but time multiplied by distance reshapes
your face, mutates friends into obsessions,
molds love out of nothing, perverts the chaste.

Dreams photoshop your eyes a greener shade
as porn expands your breasts a couple cups.
Old songs reheard weave us into new fate
revised by porn with girls who have your butt.

I found you on Twitter again. Your tweets
praised Trump, raised guns for Ohio, teabagged
women and children. Were you always so sweet?
I never noticed. I never saw through masks.

My dreams now have you bind me, torture me
with whips and wax until I vote GOP.

Sprite in Communications

A sprite resided in the classroom’s nook
and flew without a word that could be heard
above the banter of the babbling brook.
She sang as loudly as a hummingbird.

She fluttered in flowers among the trees
and sweetened bitter nectar with her air,
but who could notice such majestic fleece?
Not even hawks could spot her in her chair.

But when she took the stage, the world witnessed
the stars eclipsed by the span of her wings.
Her flutter could not keep pace with my chest.
Her nose’s crinkle did unwrinkle things.

Oh, sprite. Why did you have to hide from sight?
Without your light, the summer’s endless night.

Valentine’s Day

The chapel bore witness as I vanquished
your greatest fear with vows, a ring, a kiss.
Our flock rejoiced as I stripped off the Miss
and exorcised your spinsterhood anguish.

The Hilton Times Square heard you give reprieve
to me from crosses caught in junior high.
Inside you came deluges from a sky
denied a drizzle, thirsty for relief.

The morning after, you discovered my
my fetish pornography. I inferred
no sense in your chatter, just hollow words
I’d learn to tolerate with alcohol.

Man shan’t divide what God unites, unless
unfaithful, the only bond we possess.

Morning Star

Day 23 of the 2012 April Pad Challenge by WritersDigest.com.

Horizon beneath the onyx canvas
bleeds with a watermelon tinge.
The rooster’s crow, the alabaster kiss
herald the Sun’s resurrection.

Specters congregated to haunt the night
exposed to be but naked trees.
Chills of Winter fog dissipated by
effervescent threads from the Spring.

Star from the East, ascend to the mountain–
beatify the forsaken ground.
Blunt the chill’s sting with golden redemption–
adorn the Earth with ivory crowns.

The starless night struck by the tangerine tint–
asunder dashed by the Morning Star’s ascent.