Magic Rocks
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over, and over, and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
They use to be in my gall bladder
A magical place, where it is dark and stagnant
Land of slumber, land of poisonous gases
Land of cramping bloat, with a sulfur and brimstone moat
Cellular creatures carry away the death
Flushed from the world into a bright watery grave
Incise the evil, release the magic
Tickery, trickery, bamboozle me
When I least expect it, you erupt into the colonic maze
Leaving the body, weak and wasted, unable to defend the fortresses...
Angels or demons converge apon the carcass, poking it with their probes
Preparing it with ointment and spices, to send it into the tormentor
Bleed vessels, bleed, give us all your life
Partake of the concoction to ease your grief and pain...
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2009
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