5 03 2010

I’ll slice my own thighs
Before I’ll keep my pecker
In a scabbard. Overdose
On the simple principle of
Admonish my stones
Not exact in the velvet axis
Snow glistens like the seed
Of the virgin indemnity verging,
Stretching in a spandex urge
Then a surge of protien abandoned

I would guard your faith if you had any
I would guard it with jazz and scepticism
Be your champion with my horn in bloom.

My sword is stained with crimson apathy
And it looks like rust in patina ferment
A crust on bloodthirsty glory-steel
A voyeur’s thrust, a cause, crusade

Banish my rapt contraption
The knight is a chromed candidate
Hack your way through a pile of infidels
Get closer to the Holy Land, Holy Land.

The Grail sits in a vault in Switzerland
All of Wagner’s operas play in the elevators.
You can sell any crack-pot theory of the
Universe if you have the money.




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