"Exorcism #1 v2.2"

By Mark

Stepping stones and broken bones,
insults and mobile homes,
diaphragms and neon foams,
coral teeth and piston brains,
derailed demagogues on missing trains,

missing trains of thought in banned books,
teachers training dirty crooks,
dirty crooks on folded hands,
demented girls in distant lands,

landing on a western witch,
hanging from the hotseat switch,
switching on a faceless farm,
farming out your devilish charm,

charming icecubes from the damned,
damming up the river styx,
sticking to a futile plan,
planning out the demise of man,

manning ships in helen's fleet,
fleeting faces fleeing crete,
cretins crippled by defeat,
defeating death at the track meet,

meeting Satan with a smile,
smiling through the graveyard miles,
miles in your moon-sick mind,
minding all the dotted lines,

lining up to meet your maker,
making up a mixtec myth,
mythologizing your inbred kith,
kith with inward-sinking teeth,
teething on concepts out of reach,
reaching out for dotted lines
that your melting ancestors left behind.

Drowning in a refried ocean,
Sipping up their fake devotion,
devotion to those dotted lines
defining lanes in narrow minds.

Mixing up your truths and lies,
sleeping in a cloud of flies,
flying past your intended goal,
crying in your muddy hole.

Holing up all through the war,
warring with the neighbor's door
adoring facial wounds made by cleets,
cleaning up the soiled streets.

Streetwalkers opened for exchange
exchanging both your worn-out names,
naming myths from within your soul,
selling goats to bridge-bound trolls,

trolling for a quick reaction
to a health code infraction
fractured faces, painted nails
nailing shut your scented oils
oils in the sweaty palm that holds
your trembling burial chamber closed.

Mixing drinks in hollow souls,
Eating out of chimp-skull bowls,
Squeezing zits and popping boils,
Finite follies and petty toils.

Toiling under narrow minds,
and hung from the neck by dotted lines.

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