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Oh poet and prophet

Do you stumble on your own delusions?

Baked in the sun

Until your skin shows signs of prophesy.

Like the lines in your skin whisper

truths until you let the aloe seep in.

Your dreams are brought back

like the bow of your lips

until you taste the color blue in the air.

Are you the one who stands at the alter?

Your hands offered out but not reaching

just waiting

like a lovesick sigh that barely escapes

hitched at the moment of desire.

That purple pit below you

a pregnant crack in the earth rippling like fingers to your feet.

Do you feel them settling into your body

Those pulsing intoxications that tell you my fate?

That retched snake in its belly

does it tell you things?

Oh poet and prophet

The wine runs over your hands

Blood, dark red and steaming

as it drips.

Your eyes peel over like sour fruit

And your body bends as if possessed.

Your mouth comes open.

I weep, I am weeping.

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