Ethereal Beauty #48

‘POET‘:
I retrofitted my dentures for heightened gumption.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
I put Oxydol in your porridge, Gravol in your gravy.

‘POET‘:
I wait patiently in the high wind for a sign that I'm saved.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
Check yourself into the National Bank, you'll get no interest.

‘POET‘:
Ravens follow me on my morning peripatetic confusions.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
You see, you really do have a faithful following.

‘POET‘:
I trade allegories with fence-sitters when the wine-cups run low.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
Take another side, away from my space where bikini'd tack-ons thrust.

‘POET‘:
The end is near, and Jesus is hiding under a heifer till I give the sign.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
.... The middle finger whenever someone challenges you on your scribblings.

‘POET‘:
Time was when respect and honour were kings, and I mounted with ease.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
Earned in your diseased mind, you honoured your ego. The kites have landed.

‘POET‘:
I purchased strobe lights to play on my microphoned barnyard gallery.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
The lights grow dimmer, the horizon has handed you the bill.

‘POET‘:
The dust leaps at my ankles, oracle scars form on my forehead.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
Rug rats bite your ankles, scars form on your palms.

‘POET‘:
Angels sing my name over the choir in Beethoven's Ninth.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
Your name is a purgative for elves on December twenty-sixth.

‘POET‘:
Wherever the scriptures are read, my name is engraved on thirsty tongues.

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
In congealed churches, your cares are piled like carcasses in organ lofts.

‘POET‘:
My trapezoids form a secret skin rash code, saying, "I have come".

ETHEREAL BEAUTY:
And that's why animals wish it was over before the Second Coming.