My story is so nearly relevant, 
     I forget and roll my eyes.

     Devil in savior’s clothes.
     Chooses strong women to destroy.
     Feeds his need for power, not so much to enjoy.

     his ego & impatient impulses
     blind him.  his triangulated
     pitted fruits gather, with
     selfless, patient pistols resting
     at their soldier hips.
     Protests him out of town.


     Our story
     Has a modern twist with
     An ancient form of never forget:
     Forgive, as if Our lives depend on it,
     because they does.


     If we are to distort the ideal idea of power,
     We must choose to call him Savior
     and wash our own calloused feet
     as well as his’. Disgusting
     for some, I see.

     It is clear to me, the matriarch of
     His chosen polygamy,
     that the Collective Voice uniquely
     hears this silence within that noise.
     The humming humbling mumble;

     Perhaps there is no means to his end.
     Perhaps the devil’s clothes were a costume for Him.
     Perhaps he has yet to take it off since that glowing October day 
     when his mother bought it for him, for staying quiet.
     That coveted, covert-emboldening
     mass-produced, polyester Batman suit.


Image: “Poetic Justice,” Samson Gabriel. Samson was born in Russia and studied fine art in Tajikistan and Estonia.  first version published with Reclamation Magazine

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