deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hello - how are you doing today tonight
In the body of my grocery store, I'm accustomed to blood-letting now and again
Great deals on meat increase our red-blood cell count this Memorial Day
Mum's the word...I serve no mice
Sever a limb this early morn for a profusion of those sanguine globules wrapped in flesh,
Pulsing sacredly, flowing through the orifices of my lane to weigh upon my registered nerve;
Out of my mouth sighs transpose into automated greetings upon partings
To avoid such a barrage, I prefer my duties at night;
The customers reduced to oozing sores beating in time to my discomfort
Not much of a religious man myself I see no cause for self-sacrifice
You gore fool of a wet dream
It's consumerism, not bloody ritual
And you can't detach yourself from something digesting you
Unless of course with music, cauterizing your wounds till three o' clock,
Driving back checker night-mares of spirit day-realities
Invading the sanctuary of sleep with nerve rending scanner tasks
Not an hour earlier, elsewise you don't stand a chance
In that easy chair the soul reveals itself a scream
It is all we will hear when you 'turn off your light'
Great deals on meat increase our red-blood cell count this Memorial Day
Mum's the word...I serve no mice
Sever a limb this early morn for a profusion of those sanguine globules wrapped in flesh,
Pulsing sacredly, flowing through the orifices of my lane to weigh upon my registered nerve;
Out of my mouth sighs transpose into automated greetings upon partings
To avoid such a barrage, I prefer my duties at night;
The customers reduced to oozing sores beating in time to my discomfort
Not much of a religious man myself I see no cause for self-sacrifice
You gore fool of a wet dream
It's consumerism, not bloody ritual
And you can't detach yourself from something digesting you
Unless of course with music, cauterizing your wounds till three o' clock,
Driving back checker night-mares of spirit day-realities
Invading the sanctuary of sleep with nerve rending scanner tasks
Not an hour earlier, elsewise you don't stand a chance
In that easy chair the soul reveals itself a scream
It is all we will hear when you 'turn off your light'
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