Decadence in the Closet

A man dressed in his
freshly laundered garb,
with arms extended up to heaven,
the place he speaks about in words
that fly through the holy air,
swirling around his thorny mind,
bouncing off his rubber shoulders,
laying waste with all the rubble,
looking down at him, a holy savior,
a man with the plastic tongue,
the speaker of goodness but
an advocate of evil,
the man with another man
hidden in the closet, dying to get out,
of high authority and low morality,
a patriarch with a cunning speech,
who rallies the youth around his feet
and lifts them up with
his trusting, lusting hands
and brings them down into
his decadent world.
Devils look like devils,
dress like devils,
speaking in the devil’s tongue,
living in the fire down under.
Patriarchs look like patriarchs
with another man behind the smile,
living “beneath” the fire down under.

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