May I know less about
your face please?
It's contours where pores
give way to hairs
sporadically. Jesus
Christ was once your
age, who helped lepers
and befriended them
—and whores! No
filthless wretch among them
filthless. But I You.
Your mentor is a farce,
I think; the cartoon part
of Animus; enough
for you to emulate, dully.
But who knows how
good music evolves these
days. Their prancing with
bass held out like a forecourt
of debauchery before their
pelvis. Litter of red plastic
tumblers. I love you.
