Fess Up

Fess up! You demonic influx of tolerance on the balcony of desire! A pang is felt in a faint smile of an orphan that awakens senses. I speak the prescriptions of the heart, provoking and extravagant, While deprecating the intensity of defiance, bearing upon the shoulders, And longing for another great spring, through the window of my pince-nez That offers clarity, and virtue, in an undying sense of revival, And, I bear a heavy punishment, and endure a fair dose of anguish, Where no benedictions would bring a salvation to an evasive soul. The soul where hundreds of sins have been buried, as if it were a grave Of total randomness, being carried down the river of no return, In a scow of the long lost master of solitude, in his quest Of self-destructive adventure. O, voices, o, wishes! Bring me the immediacy and manifestations of illusions, Grant me every supple and forbidden fruit of my unchained perversion. Pimp me out richly to the androgenic disciples of anarchy, Or any other reality that does not belong to this Universe. My personal agon is the battle of invocation, when I call upon The gospels of insanity of wonders, and, when I employ the words Of my desires to sing about the pinnacle of delight, not shared Nor given, not offered nor forgiven, not to be gotten nor forgotten, In this spell or any gospel that a diviner, a seer, can’t foretell nor foresee.