“C.O.N.T.R.O.L’s Control Room”

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry

Glorious mornings do not exist.

The hegemony classifies freewill as a disillusioned misfit…
I don’t contest this hypothesis.
I recognize that there are things
smaller than an amoeba’s most distant cousin’s best friend removed.

Religion is the catheter with which we channel and process liquid vitality.
We’re unable to classify what vitality is,
Because what’s of importance is an opinion.

Even the uncontrollable have tickets to the manikin orchestra.
They clap obediently.
Well, it’s less of a “clap”
and more like cacophony of thermoplastic fapping.

Control is a…
tridimensional comfort word
that violates and fulfills at least several thousand interchangeable charters
of an animalistic human pedigree.

All strings attached,
puppet masters strung,
victims coagulating in their various provincial prisons.

Using your third eye’s diopter,
one may pinpoint their maker’s intentions
But they’re all out of stock, I’m afraid

In : Poetry 

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