Rochester Discourse
You in the white cathedrals of joy
Do you ever stop
To be the bouquet in the morgue of morning
A Christmas wreath you lay
At inn where the door is bolted
Where crawls the maggot
In the living flesh
And balm the heart in selfishness
I tell you the baby you celebrate
Is in the pangs that nature feels
The urgency on a slow ass comes
To a Bethlehem welcome of straws
And the carcass sees its second chance
To beat and pulse and be the engine
Of a better man
But cannot from the cathedral come
The music is the anesthetic
The art that makes the world myopic
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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