a lenten poem
Forward! Forward! On and on. Tonos tailored, I’ll be gone.
It was highly advantageous when they skewered the Shaman of Nazareth, (to a select few)— Highly weird to the many, and Blessed are they. Call me back, call me twice, call me once; call me thrice. Find the edge of piety. When Friday calls I ask for more, when Sunday comes they cull the whores. It’s all the same to you and me: a cosmic near-Greek tragedy. Hallelujah, halitosis, all the breath for fresh osmosis. Ask for one or ask for three, call them back in colony. Slay the pig and reign the train, Navigate the psychic rains. Sometimes you call it on the nose; who knows what a true nose knows? Heavenly and coward sent, they tell the figs go back to bed! I like it here. I like it now. I like it fun. I hate it loud. All types of ways that you prefer: the common treks of Lucifer! Hell take it back in later days, for now, my friends, we pound the pace: Forward! Forward! On and on. Tonos tailored, I’ll be gone. Slap the tyrant, make the maze, call the labyrinth from the maids, call the cowards from the grain, reject your next masterpiece! It’s quite a fright to call at night, I see the days ahead delight. I dash to astronomic plains, I come back down to spread the maize. Heaven leaning, hellward bound off to my next putrid sound, I like the taste they’re giving me its all one taste you wait and see.