Poem 1 (Father is a Holy Roller)

Good intent, psychosematically bent.
Made uncertain, behind the curtain, in the water's rise
I walk and wade, by the brook where my father prays,
quakes, and cries.
A subsect, of a subsect, of a particular intellect,  
But for the unintentioned, mathematician, a contradiction,
a lie.
 
We face castration, for masturbation,  
for a passion, or an action,
The song goes on, ressentiment stinks of irritation
the song is loud and long, vaguely appalacian,
an old hymn, melody, written in four part harmony
For the violin, the banjo, the human, idolatry.
 
At Adam and Eve, existence begins,
Not with a bang or a wimper, but with original sin.
Come back into the arms of Laïcité.
My rational head is pounding.