the low war's prayer
I prey to pray
prey on me O my low war
save me make me
O my low war's prayer
sleep away dawn be wakeful night;
be doleful into me enter into me
Olay oil me down to keep my soul
under my sole, my soul O low war my soul
O bray like a clown to wake
me, I should, if die a clown to take me
I bray O low war my soul
to fake
of tribal legends
ah there were the toads of wrong hued tone,
kersplatted across all myriad ponds
lit rockettes and stars bursting in air
like voices of dancing maids awaiting their flesh
in lieu of burst heads and bellies
their shred lovers eyes crossed staring intently
under far heretic lands still so
ancient, and rooted as spines
oh simpering stars once lovely true
prey on me yep yep yay
yay though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I contrive yep though I slash through the valley of meadows
skin bone runes of ancient so old no cool no more
is orchedial dew
my pluto gray song is what rocks
my pluto tone knee dumdums bursting out from third eyes
how the cyclops prayed come true came true blue
and nope don't, not I, don't fear no evil
for thou art with me
thy rod hath no engine
but gas lots and lots so endless thy staph
I would jackstart and rev the world's redemption
the table thou setteth besides me beside me
of innards and skullshards upon thine Golgotha
O Rome, New Rome that thou art
of hallowed halls
there was the merriment of rocking chair porches
the swings, the butter, the bread,
the smoking seething red apple pies
and there were battles true to cease the lynchings
and the land ran red with death,
but death with true dying and
heroes,
and the land ran red with death
to cease the masters of coin
and their brown philosophies'
dump and flush latter ask never
and still roads long long roads to wipe
birds of song and those of predation
played beneath a bongo king sun
and their war was a beguiling lethal birth of all things
and butterfly pollen masters their colorful
eggs deep as eyes of a child's first mourning
oh simpering stars once lovely true
O Rome, New Rome, blaze like lovers
bloating down rivers
annoit my head with red oil slicks, slick
as an ad the new subtraction
my cup runneth over the tame dogs their wild piss
chop not the tree thine of dogmatic hound leaves down
all the daze of my life these and I shall stomp my flag
through doubting eyes
and hearts and mines shall reign forever through chests
as King Of The Meadows in heretic lands
claws justice of one legged many
and no footed children, nor hands
O low war let me butcher
for thine chapel
its walls grow pale,
let me the cloth of this flag or that
thee adorn.
Red is the bursted mists, yellow the tracers
and green the rage of beloved ones
burgeon do the casters of coffins down
like money in the hats of far sighted blind beggars.
What hath given thee thy soul, O God, but I?
Dial a tribe, any and watch me be for thee thine
conqueror worm.
O let me writhe let me flow
letme flow letme flow into the leech
for my wars have aborted thy Earth from thy heart, and so me.
O simpering stars once lovely true.
Adding your comment:
The way you weave your incredible phrasings is a stunning thing to behold and witness. The many paths your mind travels, the many shores you walk upon in deep contemplation - all are staggering feats of utter consciousness and sheer talent. Good luck in the contest, Sweetie. 
