#sybil
i don't sneak around
using attacks with a sybil sheen
in the background
riders coming fast on Sybians
a circus of half make-upped clowns
known to the subconscious as simian
i load my horns and rush that crowd
back my attack with a hush
from the crater left in the sound
couch locked and doused in an ounce
of the rain view plain street brain preview
forget the sign of my vibe and bounce
heat melting my time on concrete
Salvador Dali's sun beating down
i cannot see so i dawn my Rosé glasses
now the sybils look pink
and those Sybians need a review
tripping themselves in a greasy ice rink
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 9:32 PM UTC
'The Sibyl, with frenzied mouth
uttering things not to be laughed at,
unadorned and unperfumed, yet
reaches to a thousand years with her
voice by aid of the god.' (Heraclitus, fragment 12)
She curves into touches like neurosis
beyond the threshold of insanity
breeding desire into a lovely oddity
She mends the lie in facades to
empty them into our secrecy
With a banshee's throat
she splinters time's agonies
into the likeness of what
we ordered and
brings solitude to morning's arms.
She is of Sibyls.
Bold women who once dreamt
in ambiguous shadows and
lucent prophecies.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC