My words are translated Aramaic
to your tender divinity,
a slurred expression of
time immemorial.
Satan visited me profusely
under the guise of
mistrodden eloquence.

     (i can't breathe in this.)

There was a time when
constraints defied my
powers like kryptonite,
when my head was lopped
and guarded with gold eyes.

     (i don't like wearing your mask.)
     (Have you seen mine lately?)

Some days distant on the cold
snow banks, laughing
breezily at easy disjuncture
and spending the better part
of this existence trying to
bleed my fingers dry,

     (We are the finest musicians
     you have never heard of.)

a disheartening side project
placed upon a stone altar.

     (Did you know i was an Aztec slave?)

Complacent and supple we have
lined up longingly for our visions,
but i am next, i am the
lamb, the ambrosia-slicked
path to zen.