Asides Within a Last Breath

Three lying deacons swim in a handbag - and a lone, celibate pastor paces longingly bemused. Michael, the Arc Angel, poses silently, in dusty Gabbana drag, cursing the lipstick-painted laymen writhing in rancid attar - naked and intentionally unused. Four wide-eyed boys dance on a daydream – kissing ripped posters of a white collared rapist. Saint Peter understands the jovial jokesters - the foolishness when blackened specks darken the void; the flurried flutter of his eyelids casts a tainted shadow upon a fractured sexual ballet. They continue to kiss below the waist. Three lying deacons and a pacing pastor resides – five lip-smacking nurses massaging your head. Four wide-eyed boys caress your knuckles as the well-trimmed priest pronounces a poorly scented infant: "anally dead." Seven cardinal sins slip and divide into 3 venial ratios. "Hi, Sonny"... Greed, lust and vanity are mortal crimes; Father Fragrantly Fresh... quietly proclaims: "snuggle a bit closer and sniff a hint of Genesis." Say I’m to blame and cause-count the afflictions – smaller undetected lumps hump the jaded addictions brain dead and haughty – the zombies circle and laugh! I wasn't born in a dark discarded Parisian tunnel but - can you Roman Polanski me, please? Kill the poet... and make him pay - below the waist. Crushed words embody a forgotten loner’s epitaph! (force him to stutter stupidly) and within a last breath - and within a last breath - and within a last breath - GOD... "the string-strangled puppet conventionally chokes - and quietly succumbs (to a textured landscape) of a youthful silenced dying... ...swaddled and swallowed in a heavenly - haloed chosen death..."