Mother Atrophy

along the sand
there walks a bitterling:
temptation.
she stands against the surf littered
with empty syllables, repeated vows of
compliance to your bases.
her misformed image suits your taste,
and arrives to your misformed expectations.
the waves are beckoning.
dark blankets cover pullings,
and yearnings.

a gaze dissolves your barriers of
shallow repent, ebbing guilt ‘till
it crashes around your ears, roaring secrets
long pacified.

the flicker is gone, a limited
warranty on faulty ambition,
planned obsolescence of
conscience, a factory recall on
fidelity. the gate slams shut,
leaving you panting on your knees,
tasting salt and rotten fish.

ignorance hacked to tatters.
You are a conscientious objector to
a war against the passive. Your detachment  
efficient, You have more time to despoil.
You wash your car, pay Your tickets, wash Your
laundry, ignore millions.

slowly you resign. you are
trapped between
forceful betrayal of self,
fast and brutal,
or slowly fading allowance,
the smoothing of wrinkles.
she wraps you in her arms,
the mother of indiscretion,
as you do your best to provoke
tears of awkward shame.
she tells you not to worry.
at least You are used to that.