Song of Self

[rowens]

A job is to slave,
a home is a prison;
another man's wife
is an itinerant heaven.

Goodbye Sophia,
to hell with religion.
Adjustment's sacred
as a gospel's a pigeon.

Love is War equal,
no bickering discussion. 
All clouds a fair shape.
Saints are business decisions.

With entitlement
turn vindictive and
torn; I as a whole
am done with fieldhands,

marches, elections,
strawmen and scarecrows.
Death is no freedom
and trust but a hoe.

Paid work is a grave,
children are prison;
while Child-Hermit him-
self's a wall-less garden.