I admire my message to the rural champions. I admire my amputation of the lunar sigh. I am distinctly buried in a fetal position. The behavior of my vulnerable corridors Gives your ox its spontaneous genetic frenzy. So long and elegant is my piss behind this bar stool.
The ape it strokes Its cereal with toothpaste on toilet paper. The pebble it skips A spelling of the same pile two years late. As a solider I balance My sword inheriting total clot control.
And suddenly there’s access to sacred expulsions. Suddenly, my lurking hires an urgent sanctuary. My despair sells the kids for boxes. My faith it sells the cat for condiments. This solar intelligence drags my intestines Through hair and grass always open for whores.
O indeed I’m blended, but sit down motherfucker, I still pray For fragments within me to judge what’s small and tragic. The crops they’re whipping like motherfuckers, And I’m hit while praying Those sirens are hungry for my manicured image.
It goes without saying I’m full of the real paradox. Birth after birth, My stringy pollen layers itself To prime the infant’s waning grill.
It goes without saying, My grand birth of afterbirths Is a dim passage Where shepherds may scratch inscriptions Into you Who cannot forget his stolen egg sky.