DNA

Dancin’ with yourself at midnight

Your hokey pokey in your hand

Spilling the sacred seed

Castigated by priests

Hooked into the past

Addicted to shame.

Christ, the suspense is killing me.

Where do you go when you die?

You no longer need the seed

Beneath the misbegotten moon.

A fleck on skin, a follicle,

And auger dish resplendent

In the Grow-As-You-Glow light

The new resurrection

The sterile field

Gives birth.

A generation hoping for tight genes.