I want to be a valued commodity
on the market of eternal youth,
but I have no currency except
as dried bones that groan
about salvation when rattled.

            Excellence will kiss
            with flame
            the soft skin
            of every
            beautiful child.

Still, I try to taste fire
because I want to run unhindered
across the plains of midnight visions-
and then there are no words,
but there is the moon.

Suffering is a thick liquid
that saturates our scalps,
and prayers happen while full of fear
as the arrows of evil
are aimed at us.

I try to be attractive, physically pleasing
to both the living and the dead.
My tongue wags and is rude,
but it heals while it offends.
Between death and conception,

God is fierce like the prophet's grin,
so trace the footsteps of prostitutes,
mendicants and wild beasts,
because a putrid odor is telling us
about a different path.

Now, let me take that naked taste
of truth that swells inside your belly.
Our lust will tip over
and flood the streets.
Then, we'll take a timeless walk
through our neighborhood of time.