In the Test Bungalow

They finally put you in the test bungalow with the rest of them.

There it was, its splintered walls a hodgepodge

of outdated revoluntionary phrases;

With an ingate slit known to prick the criminal amat fingertips,

and the waning floor waxed with a glossy syntax.

Footsteps beyond the door-- your rhymed hirudin stubbed upwards,

and you grew speechless in the raring circulation:

bioengineering limitations of men.

You had once sought refuge in the sheen church on the mantle;

That seductive Holy Bible bound in a cheap textile.

But this time the Tree of Life proved cryptic,

and the blank page filed you away on the maggot shelf fear

like the rest of them.

Ripple Relation Hallelujah!

An injection jabbed into your flesh with a safety pin,

its tip laced with the adrenaline driven agent of escape.

In a formulaic fleet you have passed the test of general grieving,

with colors flying.

You exit, rewritten in a side vet virus from outer space.

Someday, they'll call it language.