At bottom is a gulf between, each and every
soul bent apart, twisted pygmy, reading eyelids
inner night vision, grasping hopeless horror
overlong listing in slumber, bored building blocks
bastardize violence, besmirch baritone drawls
deeply resonant, like a tuning
fork in the throat, bleeding us empty, helpless
plaintiff stemming with chopsticks, humanity falls away
in modern times, naught to be done.
OR, the holy 2-letter bite size
spit bubble, opening trapdoor politics with a hammer
sickle and sinister thought, rising tides horizon
settling a score as old as time, versus confusion
fakery, swat the flies, kill the beasts, trample the protestors
on the capitol steps, as do what thou wilt
is the only law, if you can afford it, that is
factual forces farm, blood fertilizing the soil
with souls of sinners, we will dance, hopefully.
andrewhalteromniblog 