Soul searching,
pushing myself to the limits,
Ecstasy,
Pain,
Curses,
Blessings,
The nails- I pull them out
One, two, three, Four, Zed,
I name them new names,
Each one a devil aborted-
Each one an angel absolved-
Each one a bit closer to the self that is I-I am-I-I-am
Divorce on the horizon-
Peeling layer by layer of the
skin that ounce covered
the muscles and white ooze
of my body
Divorce on the horizon-
dark hair ever turning
grayer and grayer with
each second ticking down
to that final stroke
ding-dong-ding-dong
not afraid of being alone
just afraid of that constant ear ringing
growing louder,
Angelic choir,
disposable me,
in the mass grave of humanity-
I am-Self
I-Self-Am
Am-I-Self?
I-am-He
He-I-am
Am-I-He?
Extra Stout brings me to the gate-seventh heaven of
Nutmeg delirium-
Ponding heart rate,
kitchen floor,
cool to the flashing spoonful of images
that are being shot out my ass
forty-eight hours later
no better than before
only a super hangover and a last resort
for my subconscious to speak its mind.
Angelic Choir-Soul Crushing
Disposable me-Soul Searching
In mass graves of humanity-
we will be.
Bring me to the Gates of dublin and brew me traditionally.
©Abdul Batin Bey 2016
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