Resonating through empty-handed orphan's barrels of cocked shotguns
& guttered-stolen minds owed to the Great Infirmary of Life, I sniveled
able-headed misdirections for Parliament ahead, stolen
behind the hill of bastard foul fools.
The meaning of life contains no secret worth keeping;
birched against the back-steps of trailer-park avenues of worry
& assassinated without twice-descent for the high skies pervading slow,
coiled & spun unjustly for the reckoned warning of a thousand miles.
If I'm to live within the carriage cases of several distinct reasons,
sleeping so high for the only Answer from a petty Monk's jealousy
& the catered unbaptized beautiful piercing arrows of a burning Sun
fly right beside the hollow footsteps of a mysterious song barely hummed.
Sleeping asylums hand themselves authorities agreed; escaping
through eternity's ragged-driven vows & miscarriage'd marriages without
an appeasing deceit of a lie well-written, revised, & spoken with no voice;
convincing only to the weary eyes of a million sleeping minds.
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