Got enough blood in the bank
to drive and see mirror-like symptoms
marred by a white noise flu.
Dear sirs and Madams,
I'll take my meals in the mausoleum
of black tar pillars,
and alpha male afflicted Appalachia.

Till the soil.
Leave a diamond on the burial mound.
Reap the harvest
when conscience becomes
the proving ground.
A cubicle birthright,
misgivings and
burnt piano strings
in a paper sack.
Hand in hand get lost at sea,
and see the way of life
for the other half.

Reincarnated as a bullet
and suffering a satanized affliction,
Lucifer swan dives through a ribcage.
Typewriter slings ink on parchment
like a money shot on a porcelain chest.
Moans like a banshee.
"It's the coldest summer on record.”
Black tide of over-proof pickles the insides,
beckoning from a plot of land:
“Come on home…”
Come home to mother.

Troubadours seeking like foxes.
Coughing out highway apostles.
As holy hands drip pitch,
and a glaciers black glass slips
over and over the Lords burnt tongue,
stuttering into ladder rungs.
Of seconds brittle and heaving
and dragging on.
Like miles
upon miles
upon miles
upon miles
of stitches like fields.

Sitting and
plying away...
Kinetic energy blooms.
Coaxing wounds in the sky
to **** their diamonds into puddles
like a nervous wreck of a dog.
Baptized in ash and multiplying
in exponential shades of deceit.