angelic script three ways
Photography
i’m atypical
the dark takes me where
others wouldn’t want to go
there beauty prevails
spread the WLS
when will the saints
since the gases of The Breath began to stir laying star mosaic highway to my Earth i have stood here with the Mothers see our skin with every deep trench within lies a simple truth no matter how those eyes may look at it those evergreens beyond man’s streets will make their way to find me i the omnipotent Mother armored in degrees of time so tempered holding on to blades of grass and crooning birds the smiles of ghosts prophets who are strangers and now it is my time the holy Breath she comes on flames attire placing the finishing touches before i’m ushered softly silently diligently into a tomb of slumber
spread the WLS
in one twenty twenty one
they the prophets write
words chilling to think all through
numb symbols of prole
could it be they be
saviours with synthetic inks
prayers that result
tragedy smiling
far out into the clouds go
fumes of redemption
season of promise
idols showing their true forms
flowers in the eyes
mother of pearl moon
tonight the uncertainty
oozes out surely
spread the WLS
ulcer
acid rain drop tear
eye field of grain
gypsy cloth for burial
standing we don’t stop
just beyond the starline
shelter roof of water
floor of heaven hell
grew cold of waiting
ulcer in the chiding
mouth of goddess in
between the deaths of
lives less killed our
candied bitterness let’s build
a temple maybe five
before the swallows fly
back stoned to nests
tipping over ashes was
the flowers of my
bed in hair graying
spread the WLS
LA Blue by my window
spread the WLS
utero nostri nova terrae tuae
spread the WLS
slumlord litigation
the news today
took my breath
away the public
secret man reaches
for my head
promises of peace
and wonder only
if i keep
my lips closed
shut and abort
my thoughts into
a holding cell
of never ending
purple walls dotted
with the fingers
of the poor
brave angels with
wings plucked by
the slumlords sticky
fly trap paper
spread the WLS
even the Cecil prays
spread the WLS
Ben your leather apron
we blow at the match head
like a dandelion against the wind
three strangers one and three quarters
working lips ashes on one finger tip
book bag full of notes to rockstar
fantasies who wont ever get to kiss me
a game of snakes around the bend
32 dollars in my hand Lou you the man
ladies and rainbows sinners and thieves
carnival of man meat eaters
newspapers of the week my tired head
they serve as sheets
ghosts of the shit alley Riviera
cigars cigarettes commercial children in rain
hypothetical American dreams
polityrant money greed my soul to feed
into rooms of mystique where all
who knew too much will seep
into tabloid sensationalism
but we as cobweb kids know better
