even though, blood become
               word. and the body
          continues to have to
     metabolize when slumbering,
till a future becomes
        some moved on
                                  parallel universe.
          (mahogany-stained oak grip;
                          she’s the better
               adventure, so don’t slip)
         and the Long Dark sweatings,
                     unusual;
             brambled-feet still stink.
     (it would snow
          in a raging roar)
        wonder, can the crazy
                      be smelled?;
        wonder, does the risen body
                      require metab.?;
        wonder, did he catch a ghost
                      between his teeth?
and now [SELF-DENTISTRY 101]
                     hold on –
         watch this guy
             pull his own tooth.
   (i’m too white
     to keep this a-flow)
but Paul spoke the red, (amanuensis,
    main-saint diggin’ the schizos)
and,            but wait,
       “Jesus spoke in red,” a lone
         cowboy sang.
and colorblind, remember
        and,
                  hold up,
     guy is still working
                that tooth –
     some paper towels,
     pair of pliers,
     someone to hold the light.
             “So I don’t get blood
                 all over my buddy’s bed,”
               [brake]
      “That was a long nerve.
           You hear it pop?”
               [brake]
           “If I was straight white-boy,
                   this’d be easy,”
               [brake]
   but what can follow.