Hot Off The Press

Dear Blog,

Just wrote this one. It's fairly lengthy. I'm beginning to favor longer poems. Maybe not the final title

The Mudmen

Helpers are gonna drag
Me up out of the mud
Coughing and spitting
Black earth on my lips
They will hose me
Until I shine again
Then hand me a shovel
With a wooden handle
Tell me to dig up
Some more nonbelievers
From the fresh mud
Or the old mud
Everyone who falls
Must be lost or sinking
No one walks right in
Apparently God forgot
To give us working legs

I began hunting
With a fervor inside
I never knew existed
They said the Holy Spirit
Lived inside my body
That was too creepy
I shivered at night
Thinking that it might
Try to escape and tear
A huge hole in my stomach
Or maybe my heart
I wasn't sure where it lived
I never felt it myself
Soon I began to toe
At the dark, smooth mud
Testing the viscosity
At night I would sneak
Away from the crosses
Marking the camp's edge
To rub mud into my skin
mud into on my legs
And sometimes my arms
When no one was looking

I got less children daily
My sheep count fell
A noticeable amount
The questions started soon
They laid hands on me
Drank from their hoses
Spit water on my head
Spoke homilies and liturgies
Over my twisted, horned frame
I threw down my shovel
and ran right back in
I tried to swim away finally
But they got their nets out
Twisted ropes on my ankles
They dragged me to shore
Screaming that I will be
Saved and cleansed again
They refuse to let me go
Cover me in white cloth
Tell me to write notes
That speak of my need
A need to be forgiven

I am not to go near dust
Derivative of mud
Nor any substance that could
Remind me of the mud
And its brazen heresies
It's heathen song goes from
The place I had stored it
Their hands are weathered
From times of stubbornness
I hate the feel of the rough skin
On my tensed shoulder
Trying to push me from
Superstitious hellfire
I bit at them when they came
Near to me at all
I pissed on their hands
Outstretched to restrain me
I felt the ire rise in blood
I lashed out with frothy grins
Defiant to them all
Bare chested as a savage
They had forced from a jungle
Alarms were raised
Men came with shovels
To put down the rebellion
No longer a thinking man's game
Hot hot hot triple xxx
savage on savage
Action free of charge
I collected their dents and fell
My blood congealed
With the collected dust
I grinned nice and wide
My teeth littering the mud


Yours,
B Morgz