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Lilith's Hunger
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
What can you do today to disturb a fray,
Serve as you say, be the most ghostly curved
To swerve phrase of verbs played today.
Certain to stay grim,
Use your imagination to slip them in.
A medieval carnival past evil's walls
Allowable into shards swallowed multiply.
Followed only partially digestible
Even amongst experts in prose
With carbon-rung intestines
Full-on observation invested
Still only catching a tenth of subtext invested
When Loki lends Literati strokes,
Stepping to the test, hoping the fire stoked
Leaves nothing left...
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
...For 30 silvers Lilith spent on willing shivers
To prudest compadres of Patriarchy’s
Crudest play of Judas's sliver.
Sparking unruliest delivery
Subliminally criminal, overturning matrilineal
Beriddled systems to fit in
With tyrannical wishing,
Undermining wonderous times for blunder.
Underlining hidden ornerous crimes to ever
Send a quiver, rendering tender...
Minds to a dinner table,
Dissenters demonized and disabled.
Family lines and village fables
Realigned to fade, deities disguised as saints...
...like the subtle trouble befuddled
By Yoruba shamans who used the moments
Maintained during slavery's days
To array between layers,
Attitudes groove towards doing the math quick
On Catholic visions for syncretism
(subject interjected so those who scope
can expect what was believed to be understood
Will be relieved in footnote, prose now rolls on its own)
...backrhyme, slacktimes, the frantic antics of transAtlantic course
To disgorge hordes on new shores
Villages divided, elders held and edified,
Codified lamely into Saints,
A game to reframe family names in a hurry
Into currency like protection lies for collection tithes...
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
...Oh the splendor of missense
Misspent by early con-men and players
Dishonest by layers whence they hid.
Plenty of souls and empires whole buried since.
Centuries later, warily spoken of still,
A token of wince since
Judas's smooth rift to move a mood shift.
Shouldn't have slighted the tigress,
Decrying her gift. Lilith's hit list?
Wasn't 30 silver cents
But dirty slivers spent,
Enlisting the impurity of cunning linguists
Who never unsurely wither.
Centuries of certainty later,
In the cut waiting I laid with plans to play,
The span of RAM set to spray my fray,
Laboring through the haze 'til today
To serve the miles of the tigress.
Swerve with a style of Loki at his highest,
Disturb the hidden derision of wisdom
Leaving Christian missions
From early forbidden pages
Makeshift patriarchs edit-messed away.
Fake shit remains, truth is lost to the ages.
Lacking my street wit those blasted shits slipped.
Slacking from my text of discrete-clips
In a flack attack curved grim
From my imagination cooperated operation,
Lilith left in her will the 30 silvers for the bill
The entrance shill to the Palace of Sin
My foulest intuition slipped me in.
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
What can you do today to disturb a fray,
Serve as you say, be the most ghostly curved
To swerve phrase of verbs played today.
Certain to stay grim,
Use your imagination to slip them in.
A medieval carnival past evil's walls
Allowable into shards swallowed multiply.
Followed only partially digestible
Even amongst experts in prose
With carbon-rung intestines
Full-on observation invested
Still only catching a tenth of subtext invested
When Loki lends Literati strokes,
Stepping to the test, hoping the fire stoked
Leaves nothing left...
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
...For 30 silvers Lilith spent on willing shivers
To prudest compadres of Patriarchy’s
Crudest play of Judas's sliver.
Sparking unruliest delivery
Subliminally criminal, overturning matrilineal
Beriddled systems to fit in
With tyrannical wishing,
Undermining wonderous times for blunder.
Underlining hidden ornerous crimes to ever
Send a quiver, rendering tender...
Minds to a dinner table,
Dissenters demonized and disabled.
Family lines and village fables
Realigned to fade, deities disguised as saints...
...like the subtle trouble befuddled
By Yoruba shamans who used the moments
Maintained during slavery's days
To array between layers,
Attitudes groove towards doing the math quick
On Catholic visions for syncretism
(subject interjected so those who scope
can expect what was believed to be understood
Will be relieved in footnote, prose now rolls on its own)
...backrhyme, slacktimes, the frantic antics of transAtlantic course
To disgorge hordes on new shores
Villages divided, elders held and edified,
Codified lamely into Saints,
A game to reframe family names in a hurry
Into currency like protection lies for collection tithes...
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
...Oh the splendor of missense
Misspent by early con-men and players
Dishonest by layers whence they hid.
Plenty of souls and empires whole buried since.
Centuries later, warily spoken of still,
A token of wince since
Judas's smooth rift to move a mood shift.
Shouldn't have slighted the tigress,
Decrying her gift. Lilith's hit list?
Wasn't 30 silver cents
But dirty slivers spent,
Enlisting the impurity of cunning linguists
Who never unsurely wither.
Centuries of certainty later,
In the cut waiting I laid with plans to play,
The span of RAM set to spray my fray,
Laboring through the haze 'til today
To serve the miles of the tigress.
Swerve with a style of Loki at his highest,
Disturb the hidden derision of wisdom
Leaving Christian missions
From early forbidden pages
Makeshift patriarchs edit-messed away.
Fake shit remains, truth is lost to the ages.
Lacking my street wit those blasted shits slipped.
Slacking from my text of discrete-clips
In a flack attack curved grim
From my imagination cooperated operation,
Lilith left in her will the 30 silvers for the bill
The entrance shill to the Palace of Sin
My foulest intuition slipped me in.
Reflecting on obstacles, when questioning the gospels
Refusing to lie under, grooving to ride hunger
I’ll spill an ill list to fill Lilith’s Hunger!
Published 2nd Jul 2012
| Edited 30th Jun 2013
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