Persistent Inconsistency

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?