Archive 10/20/09 - (1)

   

Apples

                                                                  

 

That he needed his freedom, to breathe,

Hadn't been apparent to him, for twenty years,

So suffocated was he, by his putative wife,

 

Who'd persuaded him, under her codependent duress,

That she was his indispensable holy grail, his savior,

God's earthly surrogate, in the guise of his lover,

 

His life's soul mate, come, in the flesh and ribs,

To lead him back, from his deviant ways, to Eden,

Over steppingstones and paths paved with golden rules

 

All skewed, on her unlevel playing fields,

To give her the upper hand, the decided advantage,

And bear him, under her wings, to salvation.

 

It wasn't until she died, trying to game Satan

(By seducing his pet snake, Prince Lucifer von Beelzebub,

Feather her bed, with its scales, rattling tail, horns) —

 

Poisoned by his fangs as she kissed his flicking tongue —

That he realized how sweet his freedom was,

How easily breathing came,

 

Once she'd quit squeezing his testicles, choking his throat,

Climbed off his chest, left him for blind, dumb, deaf,

And had been buried in the cleft of his forgetting.

 

Oh, the golden days that followed,

Those green and golden days of his carefree independence,

That postlapsarian innocence he came to know,

 

Without his self-proclaimed wife, lover, soul-mate, savior —

A true paradise devoid of Satan's surrogate wiles,

In which he thrived on apples, for the rest of his blessed life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

10/20/09 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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