Friday, April 2, 2010

Dead Bird

God knows
that I rap like Christ
I can preach on a crucifix
make penance a compromise
I can play nice
I can dance with the other cannibals
I can wave around my cannonballs
loaded in my phallic laws
don't make questions
it's the worst thing you can do with regret
like a mother never forgets
the sting of your open wet
your wet mouth gaping jaw
interlocked with a woman's lips
loosening your wits
soaking through to open wrist
Call yourself above them
and call your sin a sanctuary
delicate, carry
cross-contaminary rosemary
life spikes in the meantime
no matter your intended sense
make fuck out of ingredients
and complicated common sense
basic instinct
versus laws of attraction
the rules of engagement
are never read back in Latin
the sheets we lay are satin
and the seeds we sow are everlasting

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