9-30

A Postmodernism Anachronism

 

What is this force, theologians name sin?

They say the world winks at it—and grins.

It cuts through the surface, a dorsal fin

But hides underneath, hunting deep within.

 

My smart phone rings—my identical twin.

I’m a good man and have no stock in sin;

A moral man with no cause for chagrin.

So what is circling under my skin?

 

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