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"The entire apple core"
by David Barger
2009-06-22 10:07:43
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Footprints align, trace, and mark

Where man has established

Barren wastelands

Coated in blood and oil,

Gold and herbs of the red earth.


Pleonexia rules the heart of man.


Man has driven iron nails

Into the palms of God;

Lost in the roadmap they embezzled

From an angel posing as a prostitute.


Man rolls in the filth of God

Saying this is mine which I created!


This is man’s day.

There shall be no biblical riots

Where people shout

Miracles of fire burn meteor bright!

Miracles of water cleanse disease!

Miracles of air raise some unto heaven’s footstool!


Man takes the currency of today

And acts out amomaxia.


Men of the cloth

Pass plates as wishing wells

Where ten rolls of quarters

Will get you eternally blessed for one week.

Each Rolex crying out it is time to give!


Love is not free.

Religion is not free.

Herpes is freely given by the hour.


I replace stones with the obvious,

The evident, and the charcoaled words.

Adam’s sin was sprinkled on us all

Like bread crumbs tossed to birds.

If Adam did not share with everyone

Sin’s delicacies then we are all

Equal partakers of this hardened loaf.

Does the infant who envelopes one breath

Then dies become eternally damned

For the single instant life was pronounced?


Sin is the apple turnover we’ve each ate.


We are not just peccable,

But indeed we are plunderers of this fine food. 

The church bell rings, so it must be time to dine!


God says to man are you omnipotent?

And man replies we took our Viagra six times today!

Man is always hard up for the correct answer.

This is why Eden was closed off from man.


I am only one of God’s madmen,

And his eyes look on me, naked in all my shame.

I will not hide it any longer

For the guilt made my throat dry,

And I announce my sins to lessen the burden.

The pressured weight upon the mind

Which may, if unattended,

Break the body down like confetti

Tossed along the streets of New York

During midnight with twelve strokes

Ringing in the New Year.

Besides, the apple turnover has grown

Rich in its sweetness,

And my throat is dry, dry of the red, red earth.


I shit an apple core for writing this poem.

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