Jackson Pollock in the gas chamber,
Diseased in retrospective
Isolation categorizing false prophets.
The stigmatization of chloroform
As the incandescent lighting spews
Both particles and waves in transgressive
Sin. Calculated by the one God.
I’ve entered into
The flat line hypocrisy
That was our door frame
Seething with anticipation
And purpose, not forgetting death
As she comes wailing,
Wanting nothing more
Then to transfer her aggressions