The Devil Never Sleeps

Sacrificial, the non-closure of gecko eyes, and counts the lines Drawn of rain and neon on my window’s negative plate; In restless turpitude, nervous sanction, switch flicked The jumpstart at the cone of shadows, And, lost, reminisce of never talking to strangers, Or walking miles in crooked execute. Time is marked and futile redemption sought And crucified without a smile. Displeasure, shop-soiled at the morning light; deeper disdain at The eventide collapse, dislike implicit of anything at all. The emptiness, chill and hollow skin scratched the Lowest fibre as it started to creep and crawl.. Nothing, never, ever can reach me in the back of beyond, The dead chrome washer of my broken heart. The point at which the dark phallus violates daylight Is the crippling point at which I start. God, for it was He, saw me angelically wrecked, and trod My sure-fire halo in the dirt of indecision, of swampland. And I, sickened by absolution, wanting to tear, split, Shred, splinter apart the vestment of my soul and reject Understanding, love, for brimstone and bygones suit me just fine. Still, boiling in the heart of darkness, pearls cast before Swine, my unfathomable superficial waters run surface deep And it seems only the Devil and I may never sleep.