Like plastic soldiers in a row A gust of truth and down they go like leaves Sailing through this hour glass the future *mingles with the past The writing hand runs out of ink and IBM runs out of blink *WAr iS Just a state of TiME
This ******* heart beats thrice per second Pumping in and pumping out the black tar from my lungs. If the body is a temple, Then I have abandoned mine No one now kneels in this void. Baptized in whiskey, Circumcised with a machete. It’s no coincidence that, I was born on the full moon In the midst of a hurricane. Learning how to eat with no spoon But this is who I am. We each have a cross to bare Mine’s just covered in scalpels Sharpened bread knives, That draw wrinkles on my face.