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They'll shove strips of newspaper down your throat.
They'll put their gnarled, arthritic hands deep in
Your mouth to silence the words to be wrote—
The words that describes their taboos and sins.
You swallow the print as ink stains your teeth.
They'll tilt your head, plug your nose, tape your lips.
You'll close your eyes, afraid of what's beneath
In your stomach—churning, oozing from clips
Born in the editorial process.
You'll resist them slinking through you at first,
But soon you won't notice they have access—
Soon enough you won't even be coerced.
When thoughts are force-fed for your digestion,
Acidic enzymes dissolve the questions.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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