Psalms to ****** Ecclesiastes; now Ephesians as I wait to know you. Where is my Paul for the Philippians? Where is my Batterson, within reason?

I wait with the Bethlehem on fire that is cast in the flames of Men in fissure. Who’s cast from the narrow, wrought iron gates, and ****** and made to suffer forever.

Now Matthew and ten thousand words on pagans; fruits of Galatians raving mad. And when you cannot see, or won’t see my heart, I only understand how to blame myself.

Corinthians to your heavenly realm; enmity in your so graceful of hearts. Are your blessed Revelations witnessing second death? Something else more important than ethics or love?

“For we live by faith, not by sight” For I was so faithful to ever play part in your diaspora of Brothers in Epistle performance, redemption and providence so greedy and perfect. Was I by nature deserving of wrath? So where is my Paul for Ephesus-sent?

O, Theism as cover from flame- the Bethlehem, now crying your name. Yet silent in that omnipresent manner, at night.

And there is no one crying left to challenge what’s divine. For my body is wrecked and I’m no Brother of thine. I am many layers of things you mock. Were that Jesus could hear you proclaim that you reject me for finally teaching myself to walk.

With many words other than hate you describe me a world that’s an endless Hell. With a vague sense of end times approaching us all, I’m walking on coals but to hear you out.

Where is my Nebuchadnezzer’s wall? Your explanation in blood simple scrawl. Daniel to Genesis to holy Qadosh; now Numbers as I burn in the thought that you implied I’m unclean and you preach and you preach and I burn so you look down at me like a pillar of salt.

I’m gone with the Bethlehem on fire that is silent in ash at the end of it all. Scatter me by the White Throne of Judgment and look on and see it standing so small.

Now Matthew and ten thousand words- you don’t know me. Galatians; it used to not be immorality, debauchery. We used to confide and find peace in reality. The ash floats and it rests and you never knew me.

Effi you are strong
Held together at points with straw
But string, and twine
Are everywhere they belong so
Effi you are strong

Effi, who I wipe a baby spider from her eye
Swaying, as I have her in her nest in my arms
Preening, playful, so pale and yet warm
Like yet has her form not ready been burned

Like yet has her form not ready been blurred-
Been turned over and over in my hands, and
The hands of some other passing estranged
Who make it their hobby to hold dolls in their hands, and
In the eyes of even those who would like me to “Stand
Back!” And who have many opinions on how you are arranged

Effi you are rotting
Left apart at points with straw
For fun. With time
Parts of you may be lost and gone, for
Effi you are rotting

Effi, who lays crumpled with termites in her dress
Making not a sound as I lovingly impressed
Teeming, infested, so green and yet cold
Like bathing in the attic sun, my raggy little urn

Like staying pretty, still, angled and borne,
Never thou forget from deepest-my-strands
Hair, sweat, longing and wrath to spare you an age
Kept from blood, for mandibles can course through your trunk
You are blessed as more tree than that of a Man
Which says nothing of your more feminine form

Effi you are broken
Simply open to the cold
For sun is spun,
Peaking around attic shafts in your home
Effi you are alone

Effi who they would all stone into the bitter ground
Making ne’er a thought for you as only I protest
For your baggy face I cannot live to see it harmed
You know I did not make the eyes of all the laughing rest

Effi, Effi, Effi, little things like you get lynched
Effi- and it’s them who make you little, it’s not us
It’s not them who lovingly drew you up to always blush
Nor the one who keeps you at great risk to his health
For the one who has you in your nest in my arms,
Has a needle- not some rope to tie you by the neck

Effi you are sunken,
Surely aching in the cold
Or warmth as well
Is scared of what is simply our love-
Effi you are hiding

Do you intend to dig into or out of the dirt?
To escape me, or escape those who see you a sport
And bring up their arms- And one shrieks and blurts
Like “May only monsters own such grotesque sort!”

Like what do you know of the world and of pain
And you’d go out there with no muscles to stand
And I know you- I know you’d get too warm, and
What plan could you make that does not involve us?
They make a special place, in fact, for little girls, like thus:
They call it Hell, and little bugs and string do burn so much

Effi you are safe
Held away from the face with disgust
For skin will crawl
From somewhere clutched inside your breast
Effi you are safe

Effi, who I stitched to life with bug legs, with ******
Who’s little souls will try to serve you, or your soul they’ll wrest
Beaming at the people who hold you from their face
Like soldiers- like claim many who drop you and your lace

I know in my heart- and I know my heart so well,
As I modeled your heart after all the love I form-
That I did not just make you, but I was made in turn
To make you and to keep you near my heart and in my arms
To store you and your comfort of rotting, writhing hugs
Far away from any evil constructs on this earthly dwell

Effi you are strong
Held forever with my straw
And string, and twine
Do everything I allow so
Effi you are strong

Dear,

Abigail I never missed you
I could always see you cared-
Not! for anything,
And everything that walks.

And I could never walk for you,
Dear.

Abigail it always kills me
That I would never **** for you.
And everyone,
And anyone said

That we were just the cutest pair,
Dear.

Abigail I never fought back.
One thing that you always loved-
Not! like anything!
And everything that kills,

And stalks, and feeds on prey at night.
Dear,

Abigail I always felt like
You could always stare me down,
Slam! into me,
And watch me come apart.

And watch me squirm around on the ground,
Dear.

Abigail I never missed you
I could always see you cared-
Not! for anything!
And everything that walks.

And I could never stand for you.

Abigail it always chills me
That I could not just sit with you.
And everyone
And anyone agrees,

But only after years and years.
Oh,

Abigail I should be nicer
About you and behind your back-
Not! to everyone
And anyone that knows

About you and the way that you hunt.
Dear,

Abigail I always felt that.
Abigail I tried to try-
Bam! next thing I
Know you have lied

But then I would just try again.
Dear,

Abigail I never missed you
I could always see you cared-
Not! for anything!
And everything that walks.

But I could never walk for you.

So when thoughts of scents of death,
Temperament, and light
Matches will of body,
Power, dreams of scattered flight

I find myself the sweep of spattered leaves upon the trampoline
I find my body resting in the morning in the breeze

And I brought my blanket, pillow,
Basic’ly my bed
And my fingers tingle, and
My toes and in my head

There’s anger, calming, like a feather swaying on the trampoline
I mind the distant yelling through my stupor and the leaves

So when screams of fears of death,
Shadows bent, and love
Chase my tired body
Out into my autumn hug

I fear that autumn and the world will pull me from my bed,
My trampoline; like a feather, swaying is my bed

And I should not scream, and yet
Scream and cry I did
Curled up and laying there
Under the sun, I hid

I find my body being pulled, I am not alone. The trampoline
Holds several bodies stretching, crawling for my bed

So when screams turn into
Chants of breath and writhes
I slam my head against
My bed, but up, I rise

Into the sky, with leaves behind, and tears left on the trampoline
I find my body leaving, like a feather on the breeze

To the East there was grown a garden,
West-towards sat some hedon-else
Wardsome, tapped out like Left hand,
Right and all else that God made “and Hell”

And it’s important to adhese sin
Within birthright; at marble’s sects
Or burn all an infant infects
From Devil hands if West there when

To the East then was grown a garden,
West: ******, locusts, snakes whom melt,
Formed a tether front His veldt
Left dare bridge its perfected ardent

There, in its East was grown a garden
Right, and rivers o’er its bless
Warning Left that river’s fence
Reflects what He let spare and sodden

Away are the mangled yellow rose
Tangles wilt into a little pray pose
Handled mist by wind and wrangled
To many a large little yellow rose pile

So too is the tree’s scatter sprawling
Hung onto branches’ leaf fall so causing
Their sweep between the mote debris. Float
Down as remnants of another sunless home

Eccentric, as time always throws with an ease
Centrifuge gently ordered around by the breeze
Sorts the bark from the copse to the outermost trough
Around concentrical cycles of rose petals doffed

Cry, little backyard grove green poplars
Growing backward so grass under prospers
Will sun now posture itself down with passion
For its green poplars die, distant, forgotten

Supposing which nature itself would have spoke
Which oak, and which posey can’t patter for hope
Symposing; the whole forest arrived in a room,
Blooms, and as such is giving birth to a tomb

Away are the ranges of colors of yellow
Rose-stained by little backyard grove cell’s throes
Ere charnel, with fits, all bled and divided
Planted upside-down so life fades skyward

And admitted into brickle cracks in its space
That enclosing trim, divorcing light from embrace
Like Methuselah in-negative, in retreat
In hymns spinning sap down a spiral of heat

Emaciated, strangled, so close to summer
Dry, little grave rose seeds, up from earth
Plume per some bracharchein-must despite
Succumbing to a simple sort of chaos of life

Cry, little backyard grove, don’t falter
Or falter, but make of your tears water
For creating, on other backyards, targets
Still sun, revolting and drifting like Argus

On pasture whose grass is a leaking function,
Incarnal fire, nulls, and its desperate induction
Implanted aen rayrounds aimed as devils did
Before this great plain, in its nucleoid, spread

Away basks creation that is happened, at movement
At once, and the gray roses too are a plumage
Their stems so simple at the simple end
Of winds-sent saccharine a brittle blend

Will whittle brown like solar lentils o’er a frond’s
Neck, face, its whole supple being peppered into yards
Of poplars, and all that life that all fades around them
Prayered, packed, all stacked: all grownup to heaven

All but the kindred, petrified, indenting pith’s jut
Being what the generations call silent. Be what
Some tree’s failing structure, botuled and pious,
Might impress in the mass ailing under its guidance

Cry, little backyard grove growing on
Top of, and little furtive leaves’ abscond
May, from many an old rose pile
Carry, till sun, onto fields not defiled

Releasing their collective last spray. A cork-
Like works in the shriveled bed of the world
And the trees can’t believe it comes down to the grass,
Their tension, dew marking green upon a new path

I recall when the word trolling lost its meaning for me
I used to read them, only young, and they were mere bullies,
Aggravators, mute as heathens in a crowded schism
Outside of some facsimilar, so-fractured cathedral
Which throws down its weakest goat to sate meat eaters

And, only young, my eyes were reading, that the heated sea
O'er breathe-a-plead, would rip a man's clothes of its histories-
I should look from the textbook as a teacher, stiff and
Of turning colors red, then white speaks "We've the primeval!
We’ll make a lesson of this computer troller!"

I recall, on the day which I learned of Nagasaki
And Hiroshima, I was young, and they were mere cities
Ambivalent or ignorant, I thought not of them, for television
Divined I look upon Godzilla, and her shadow on those people
And she could breathe in symbols, speak over meat eaters

And, on the next day, I could talk louder than any given Quasi-
Modo thing living in my school- in its townsquare dirt heaps
Where thieves met, and within which I developed egotism,
Some realer-than-thou lizard four thousand days from the fetal-
The position I'd return to had I not been awoken in an ocean that teeters

I recall, from my home, when I dreamed of planting trees
Who could gather carbon so hard they grew bags of money
I recall, in the news, discussing a new breed, a Bezosian ripple,
A change of the leaves. Wealth suddenly felt like the faces of evil
And I, of the sea-barren, most foolish of creatures

And there, I awoke. As a recessed feeler of waves on the beach
Where I felt like a desert, but looked up at those stories
Just past the condos, the quarries, and the Star of David. Arisen,
Was a God-scraping deathbringer in the craft of a steeple
Which reminded me of my days as a meat eater

I recall when the downfall of life was a guarantee
I believe the fires were first to feel our supreme quantity
Theatres were second to inform us post-division,
Your need to post memes overpowered human grief, then
Seeped into the survival instinct, and died on Pangea

But, before, from my time when I knew many heaps
Of pointless information, and empathy and insecurities
I would wait much a day for a starfull night sky, a dusty vision
Remembering me of my time when I knew not about the ocean’s ripple
Or the bombs. Or rises that be without all that falls after

I recall when the word trolling lost its meaning for me
I used to be a fast talker of untruths, of folie
And thought of this demon in the forums and the social systems
As even lower, lower than my type of canned drivel
It bleats like a goat on the steps of St. Peter

But even this thought was scattered, was taken from me
So all of my innocence would dry up in their Aries’
And Merriemic pursuits to define how to hold another in prison
Such was the troll, detained by the squawking, herd-song believers
Which, I recall, makes them but mere meat eaters