The surface of un-charcoaled moons
street dogs drugged in daily stews
lays down for a carving intoxication
Bones lift in a wind & haphazardly
press play...so I can slow it down
try & understand softening of clay...

Stodgily in the dirt and Cravens
of such pretentious-ness of pretending
of self worth of such clapping praise,
the parasites lap up the demonized,
joint edges of a bathroom mirror
a record presciently will stop playing
It herds until the final of warnings,
Almost discretely with the attempts,
Can't breathe like you are breathing....

I'm in need of more than bleeding,
I need so much back-yard weeding,
I can only survive my mentality
if one day I can be forgiven
unlike a witch of heathen
past the ocean poisoning
of the vile repressed toxicity.
Yes, I do confess my sins,
Sails past a boat to Bethlehem.