prick'oles in the beast of us

 


you
can stab it with a fork
to form 4 tiny,
prick'holes in
the blessed
epidermis of this beast,
venting and vaulting,
taking the lot of
rectified spirits dribbling
down the noble skin,
 to settle
the heart and soul, so
as to be immune to
the properties of
death,
(as we know it).

we beg for a
continuance, so as
not to rush judgment
on mis'takes of 'truth',
(and other'such silly
reveries).
with errors in verity, and
notions of perspected reality.

The spirits
leak from the beast
in smallish droplets,
(rectified, as they are),
making no sense of
the sanctified of manners
made clear by our apostate kings
in their contrivances of
 further glory.

Even
the essence will not remain.
(will not remain
will not remain)
and be gone, as such
we suffer 'til all is over and
done


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