poem i wrote abt human greed n shit, republicans u feel, would sound better as a screamo track tbh. recorded in my bedroom, st, john's
lyrics
where the rich repent
and the armour sheath
there is heaven scent
slicing what lies beneath
the welkin’s firmament
our velvet-sheening leaves
and our drupes resplendent
the selasian saffrol laurel
may mimic entactogenics
through the zygomorphic mirror
a myna severs several passerine starlings
yet ethereal empathogenic empyrean entity
are wont to such filaments
and won’t do much diligence
to fall: to step down for just a moment
and see the glaucous somber leaflets
as its silken veils that may exist
as but a nascent archaic cryptogram
as put a scent to ash like cryptogam
as let the cyme lash and coax by ribboning flame
hepialids resting on erythronium call by ghost of dawn
to you, whatever you may be to theistic corporeals
will you, just as they, be gone?
but you, what they say, if not wrong is that you’re realistic or, or real?
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