O desultory dilettante
define my damage
there’s a little god in my pocket
calculating the cost
I don’t believe half of what he says
about you, of the others
I think there is a breath of truth
hang ’em high, hang ’em low
little god believes impermanence
as above, so below
so what sort of shade
will you be wearing to life’s next
masquerade?
Pencil in the details, hon
we may have to make changes
to the schedule
deviation from the dance
eradicate the norm
the shelf upon which you
were placed is quite drab
it’s time you were oiled, cleaned
sight down for accuracy
and fired into someone
polish up that virtue, son
says the little god on my wing
let’s kill all of the unbelievers
and sway to the beat
In time, there is no time left to count
happens infinitely in an instant
victory or defeat
a modicum of sorrow meets each
once the game is won
these platitudes beseech us
to forage after dark, in
the abandoned days
twilit ways and unsavory eyes
little god says they record it all
and moon it over coffee
there’s a tragedy on your face
as if you’ve cut to the meaning
I do not wish to see you go
but I do so love the leaving
O my diabolique darling
let’s desecrate the devils
and set fire to the sun
can you imagine a fire that hot
or am I the only one?
The little god in my pocket
says I am his only son.
The tides are against
pitchfork prophecies
and the burden of this
dainty deity
weighs a fucking ton
Incendiary poetry
… I like it.
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Why, thank you Sir!
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I loved it ..it is so of the moment!
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Thanks very much my friend
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My pleasure!
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Oldepunk at his best.
“there’s a little god in my pocket
calculating the cost”
Stunning.
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Thank you Henna🙏
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