Zul-Qarnain these days as a patsy in Babylon

Tim Horton, Tim Janis Kofi Annan, In a scaffold that knots a shoeless You are mincing me on a cutting board, these days In pounds per pounding heart , with knives and bleesed hone You were a father's lump and a mother's grace And slowly in your ladder you learned to term these as art Not those in Those Winter Sundays. What did you do with that wooden frame? Did you find the tree in ancestry? In a writer's studio Yes even without an autobiography Surname, on a Harlem street, for one , Lucy Heo? She is on learner's permit Dreaming in off white in a bloodshed That paid housekeeping in Ramses Two. For a resume in pre-positioning Curator Which rub will call prophecies of Moses through optical fiber In Tele-communication. For an analog togetherness, long gone, scare-crow , coo! to exhibit digital exit, incognito, too.