in all that time before Jesus returns
something alive in your palm grasped
and afraid to peer inside
fearful of opening up your mouth to the silent crowd
you anticipate
on the left of smithfield i went burning gasoline
leaving my seven by seven
to breathe in the fresh smoke of a well painted room, with its seperate set of john keys
i was approached
many times: 3
she keeps saying that i have a more approachable
but i was cornered, and barking down the lines of pages glued on the latin side of the burning apple
these souls were predestined
they were dejavoodoyou remember, whats that book in your palm
grasped, you must be in college
you're the only other one
and you read, but not usually
reading my palm
sunday, Catholic, are you?
universal, you must write....
must attend classes
you're the only other one that replys to my literary stares
silver rings, you must be lonely
wear black shoes.
you must think of what you'll wear for hours.
is your brother pregnant?
you must be escaping, you are wearing your near sighted look.
you must speak with a southern influence, you're the only other tenthousanth man in here
saving the world.
you have a beating heart
you have a sore memory
and a beating stress escape giveaway
you're the only other one in here.
the crowd is a caffeinated hologram
we are essentially alone.
sister said it correctly.
mind you i don't want to keep you from your baby, and plus your important escapism light reading.
but your phone number jumped out of your pocket and like a bat symbol to the heavy predictable
condensation outside.
by the way,
you're the only other one in here pretending Out There doesn't exist.
you're the only other one in here speaking to the Crucifix like an alcoholic without drinks, are you fearful
there are groups you know
we are having one manned by me, a female, and you
a fetus.
are you looking around like a family reunion?
we are a family unit
and i'm requesting your prayers.
you are in the southside
you are in the well of yourself
you are familiar
you are not quite reading about a poet in the latin side of the burning apple
you are not a woman, holding up signs of persecution
you are not a man throwing seeds on the fertile piedmont
you are an artist inside the shackles of a box underwater
but the term artist never applies to you
you are a present wrapped in pink ribbon, with a serial code, and zebra bars
you are the only other one in here nursing the grinds at the bottom of your sugar
peering at the cup stains like an alcoholic on the first day of taking it day by day
you are ignoring your return to the 7x7
these places close
i will always be approaching you
and you will not understand to be complacent
you will always be on the brink of understanding
and i will forever be pious
i will forever be a wise man selling fortunes
i will forever be gaining on you in alleys
i will tonight be orchestrating your five o clock sweaty wake up
i will forever be learning the ancient art of irish folklore
and i will approach you kindly
i will play on your ignorance
i will never be a thorn in your flesh, i will never be the Archangel Michael saint of the slaying of Lucifer
but i have a set of spears
and i have a set of coffeebartenders
and i know how to speak hyroglyphics
and i know that you want to talk
i speak infant
i speak your family
i speak in many religious forms
you may ask me over for a spell next escaping round
but it would be silly to introduce me to crowds
i'll give you plenty of time before Jesus returns
there is a book clenched in the palm of your hands, you're Catholic?
universal?
Birth sign: Aries
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