Teaser #2

This is not poetry. Poetry must bleed and my words ooze poison. This is not a prayer, I don’t fucking need anything. Take your saints off the altars and hang them in the trees - they can see you better from there. Dance on the bones, fuck like it’s the last time If they look at you at night, mantras burn out space. Mystical insights - patterns on the retina. If someone says that you are closer to God - piss in his fucking eyes.