Who is selling what today?
Footsteps that trample shoemakers
Claim to be late for doomsday clock resets
Kept in total vacuum, under glass jars
The bulletproof transparency
Upon which I project The Strongman
In fear for my life
Seeing you live yours in blissful aplomb
Self regenerating figures
A new vessel for fortification of fragility
Sprocket rot under regurgitated acidified air
Time stretched mortality for the undying at faustian discounts
Marble tributes untouched by beneficiaries
Footstep trample inherited shoeboxes
I think it is time to open a truce
For a lease to a bridge that you will build
Speak ill of the dead
Bananas rotting in high speed montages
Septic tanks sustaining ecosystems
Triangular arches bearing loads
Tomb domes housing pigeon insurrections
You bring this shit, to my house?
Terraformed shards of moulted earth
Smooth it out
Blow-cool the rusted metals it touches
Until there’s a hole in each cheek
And I can finally fit in a lot
Cargo spikes tangled flesh grist stick out
A cheek puller’s dilemma
A coy boy iced cream packed mouthful decoy
Sinew hedgehog landmine
For want to tucking your soul in your skin,
good fucking luck
Some motherfuckers are always trying to ice skate uphill
Picture me, wet tip quill, crying over ink spilt
Split the bill, writer unskilled, still pages to fill
Bank notes nil, wilted will, drafts from own images shill
The outlines are stenciled, drop your pencils
Sense ill, no dose of penicillin gentle
Sentences pretend to bend into themes central
Potential mental, perceived expertise purely coincidental
These streets will harden you up
Now steal a spine from a bystander
Grow some balls while you’re at it
It is not that bad, stop whining
With my limited knowledge of immunity
You will be baptized in raw sewage
You will be enriched by it
That’s how manure works, right?
Grow up, you weakling!
Who hasn’t caught a few bullets to the brains?
Accept the things you cannot change
Don’t be the change, you blowhard!
Your neighbour makes more money
When will you imbibe their essence?
I will tell you to fall in line
So you will fall face first horizontally
Where is the gilded urn you promised my ashes?
The several hearses on the tar pits,
Bubbling from my cremation,
It will finally shroud your senses