You hanged yourself from a palm on a desert island. Starved for weeks. Catching flies in the cave that hung open in your mouth. Swaying on the wind until it was worn too thin and died. And you see a series of the most beautiful sunrises. Which you paint in my sleep every night after you've crept through my skull and come visit me. Telling me all that you know of the habits of flies While the new ones Those kids Dance around my breathing nose To settle and sleep on my gums.- All waiting to hatch to get a glimpse of that sunrise Of which their parents dreamt. A timeless chant The only thing that god can be called And the skin fell off of the shell of their light to make naked a thing that can not be named. Cracking and peeling back their eyes to make way for the divine to come pouring out Drowning a bloated belly thirst Light explodes from every inch of the body- It is the building of Ash, The ripening of the past. Until all that is left is he lthe two pupils falling Like flies giving up on their lives Into a pool of pure psychedelia Dropping as a pearl tastes in the ignorant mouth of a thousand wanting oysters swallowing down the ****** of said god. Who chokes on its own divine light That it can finally die Away from the madness of its mind
-overandover andoveragain.
And our island Is a venus fly trap Devouring its neighboring flowers Until there's no distinction between The sweetness of rotting And the living which is a thing we call ours.