studies evil all the time
suited to the bone
for primal atonement:
his flesh of bread
and blood of wine
seldom self-aware
at borrowed prayer
with room to grow
he ignores the glow
an untold suffering
through a magickal buffering,
a resounding sadness
tempered by madness,
a hand-cut lull
through his dream-like dull,
cooks the books
with bygone looks
impossibly fine
between the lines –
speaks with a twang
on the twilit range,
sings for the choir
on a wire transfer,
records a daily weeping
for grace and sleeping
through provisions
& punishments
peaking deep –
his banalities & bribes
and thoughts proscribed
through mundane lies
and polyvinyl
chloride pipe –
that routine voice
of grind & noise
cuts through the floor
with byzantine bore
“just
bread &
blandiloquence,
ma’am,
may I have some
more?”
(amen-
that three-faced eye
for absolving sin)
a kindhearted man
prays with the lights down low
and his windows shut
to the hand-cut glow
soaked to the bones
of a familiar denouement
the banality of evil
as prescribed by
some old sentience
at primordial dream.
Been a while. Good to see your still weaving words and painting with phrase. 👍
Powerfully penned, Benjamin. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian