persistent inconsistency.
a dry month in a summer stream
a wry smile on a submissive page of an auditers twisted write
a childless rattle dead beneath the footprints of a Spitfires sudden retreat.
belated grievence for the corpse of crystalite bohemia
in a sautes pan where fries the guts of congenital cymatia
before the grace of god almighty
and the pressures of a market stalls divine interpretation
I am all alone with my corpus christis\' damming of allure;
catholic eyes in the sunrise of my confession
the obsession of my drepession in a recess room where sits a tired starling
nursing my severed eyebrows in a bowl of scrambled eggs
as the curse of immortality crawls beneath my seething pitta bread;
the talking hands of corruptions startled cries
it is the verse of the erupting mona lisas\' smile
that tickles the hideous humour of my saturated liver
and barks a stark reminder that I am nothing more than a president elect;
a prescriptive drug for the turmoil of my tumour.
oils blood for the anarchy of the archers bitter arrow
will cushion the blow in a make believe passing of my urines\' chequered past;
bask in the glory of my caskets borrowed stone
shiver with the ice that infuriates my cocktails tenderstem
and try to understand,
consistent inconsistency
will bring only the destruction of the smirking pig in its\' basket of remource;
can you see the light
shining from the glass eye of stampeding authority?
my heart is nothing more than a walrus tooth with a hunters glare.
I pretend to care,
but do I really, do I really...
do I really, really, really,
really care?