Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Concatenated Murmuration

You make me want to find god,
The way you loll around
In adventitious reflection as
Though to create some friction
That will set afire the mind
In some eucharistic fashion.
Your black wings and psychotic giggles
Cannot hide the childlike
Lunacy brimming within your emerald eyes.
A breath to accent the hours
Ticking by as you sit on your cloud
And picket the world with your word,
The never god of our heavens
Ready to slay with his mighty sword
Encrusted with hope and faith.
Both of which will not save us from a
Sound slitting, our throats gashed open
Leaking life upon his feet.
This black angel with intentions good
And soured takes me for granted,
Spewing his allegiance at me.
It is through care that he kills,
And I run into the night, knowing
My time is limited, that I
Can only go so far this time...

Feb. 4. 2010.
 


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Concatenated Murmuration

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