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stork daddy
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II. Open the door, do not open the door.
The slim fallacies of suetonius,
lay slivered in light beyond.
And the dust comes down,
comes down.
A thinner volume of our perpetual
empires.
Oh how then can you say,
"we have not the will or way"
Oh how then can you say,
"that day is not our judgment day"
III. The wrinkled animus lies flagrant
at your feet.
The bitty bears do gnash and weep.
The bitty bears do hardly speak.
Walking amongst the ruins,
prodded on by suetonius
and the slimmest of prose.
Until we rise again,
again rise,
your savior is in the counting house
alleging buttercups.
Categorizing gnostic, caustic,
and the market men in surprise.
Have I, Must I, gone on, go on?
No, no, I have not.
The belly is forlorn,
the forlorn are shot.
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