Wednesday, 23 September 2015

Mother Spider

She Strangles Strangers,
Watch Them Dangle In Their Free-Range Sandals,
Hung Up Like Hams In Circus Tents,
Sighing Over Anxiety InTo Their Psalms As Salt Hits The Safety Nets,
Slobbering At The Ropes... Showing The Crowd Visions For Drunken Fish...
It Is Her Crowd... And Her Audience Claps At Another Dumb Fuck,
Another Fallen God In Debt Up To His Crown Jewels,
Eyeing His Pope's Floating Elephants To Send For Sacred Brethren,
Dissipating In The Final Thresholds... InTo The Stomachs Of Chamber Maids,
Imagining WithOut A Doubt...
For A Wondrous Sundering Of Thunder,
Flaps Opening Wide For A Dust-Moted Blast Of DayLight,
To Wagner's Riders From The Third Act Storming In To Save The Lost Reich,
The Grey Race Of Spinning Puppy Psychologists And Their Apostle Harvesters,
A Brazillian Renaissance Assured,
An A-List Charter OutSide Of Some Two-Faced Muddy Barrow,
Tested Proven Through The Mystic Virginity Of Tesla's Tied Tubes
Nature Is A Curious Cloud For The Stench Of AnyThing Fat And Dieing,
So Naturally All Dogs Piss On Any Gate They Can Find,
Beside Their Uncanny Talents For Gnawing At Bones, Sniffing Ass And Licking Palms. 

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