I art sin.

I am
the red fruit.
Dropping on Newtons Imagination,
persuading Eve to induldge in sin.
Again.

I am the situation that's stuck in the back of your mind that you try to ignore but can't because it's becoming
you.


an organ doomed to death constructing our lives and music.
The enamored unanimous.
The euphonic tunes of demonic goons.
the Nightmare.

Transending into your dreams, clutching hold to your greatest fantasies-holding them hostage.

POW goes the gun on the P.O.W who tried to run.
where the hell did you think your thoughts were goin?

Touch of a blind
man.
Sight of a deaf
one.
Pride of an oldest
child
shame of a
 stepson

The Oil
your necessity, the gyrator to your engine
rotating like shoulder joints.

you know the point?
its sharp.

Puntual are we in the way that we discipline?
      CAPITAL punishment is the sentence they exclaimed(!) after the jury dashed(–) in with the verdict that he was guilty, and after a period(.) of hidind his colon (:) quoting his lawyer, and questioning(?) his innocence, he would be beheaded at the CAPITAL.

I am the saint
with a dirty magazine
the braggart
with a small penis.
the hypocrite
with no hypocrisies.
the fatigued Olympian

Karma is a two-toned 8 foot boa with fangs squezzing and nibbling at your sins.

Suffocating and biting at your flaws.

draining airs and defleshing vengance.

the heart that pumps kool-aid
fits well
with the body that sweats Crisco.

Literary Obesity
too thick, too fattening, too sweet are the words that stroll from the lips of a playwright–thus weungage in mental fasting in which we only read the light novelties served by enquire

we fear a chubby mentality

the genius struggles with weight.
the idiot prevails with lightness.
the meagar proclaim excellence.
I am
the apple

Re: I art sin.

This is really grand…  thanks for the new poem…