The Anarchic Liberation Of The Eyewitness Religion

Avoiding death is

losing the game of exile

My scent is decay,

all the empty milkbottles reflect

in my surface

I was sold at the river

to the red, replacable slaves

and the story became faster and faster

The map was planned out,

the black flag cries

and all books are cooked up

Think of a number

and divide it by me

something results to nothing

and nothing is nothing

An exalted destiny

approaches me hostile

I'd like to deny the inevitable

and experience the impossible

There has never been a number

and I break in diamond shapes

Only because contradictions

come true with every tread & change

Only because affairs

rise up by the dead & escape in new rules

the barrier will resist, if desired again,

the vennered exo-skeleton

Responses become, if received,

the winnows of my frozen pilgrimage

I can open the serpent now

and burn my lied out face

can glozing over wear down

thinking of the number

and not of the answer

You said, I wasn't a tunafish

wrapped in tinfoil

For all watches are silent right away

and I am much too big

to jump over the burning water

The table is gone

I'm going down

going down