David Levitas

Rookie (14-03-50 / Debden)

Crime And Punishment (Montanist Fashion) - Poem by David Levitas

If the Sins which transgress the pale,
Be it the Church, of Family, State, or Doctor's,
That the flesh that has sinned, must to destruction be cast;
That to be handed over to Satan is the last
Rite of Natural Justice, where bowler hatted Proctors
(Satan's Angels) to the benches hurl offending hardened
Graduates of Iniquity, underground; who are destroyed,
Not for Correction but to obtain forgiveness
At the Second Coming; a chastening of the Flesh
So the Spirit of the Church can 'main pure;
Unadulterated Wine, as bitter as the hoar,
Whose only crime is to stain the Earth with frozen menstraul Mesh
(But as there's no swellings, there's no sinful business):
If, in imaginaire, Cardinal Sins are committed Twice a Day
(The Spirit from the Flesh divorced, so to preserve integrity
On that Dio Domini; bodily resurrection Guaranteed, if you don't touch) ,
But you find, in realite, your Dreams seem to come true;
Spirit's transmuted into fleshy verity; I Want, I do,
An alchemaic mutation that doesn't cost you much,
That touches your cravings with pleasurable severity
And makes you believe, Jesus is here, tossing in the Hay;
That Eternity's come, you've been forgiven, you've passed your degree,
The Life sentance has been commuted; you're free of Penance;
From a P.R.O. your'e a Resurrected body, a Thing indeed
(But as we're in Heaven, it's a pity about the Seed):
Is it the Case, that by neglecting your Other half,
Satan's found a window, to have a laugh;
And using Science and Technology as his Fool,
Transformed the holes into his Tool;
Buggered the brain in sheer vitality,
So it confuses Sense with Virtualty,
Your Fancy, with the honourable thing
And your Time Piece with the Ring a ding;
Placed the Sea above the Mental Heavens
And the Firmament, pushed, in perpetual Leaven.
Purity, is of course, a Cardinal Virtue
But charity, in knowing man's Folly,
Chastity only granted to the unwedded;
The Married, of course were of one flesh
And could bonk it, so as not to burn their mesh;
Honesty bound them with vows of the bedded
And Truth, to distinguish the Kettle from Polly;
Making Love a many speckled Hen, that sometimes Hurt you
but to which you clung and Cherished, as I do.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 7, 2009

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