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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