to be continued...

[Drew]

my bend hangs sinister as a coated shield of arms, against bane, bile, blemish, women and all their worldly charms. a psalm to post modern sainthood, an argot within a solo spirit's own mesh. the question within the choir, the caitiff hidden under her dress. and if i've slain every psuedo foreign devil, makeshift saviour, and namebrand rebel, i'd gladly strap father time to the bed's confines and force him to watch as i ravage mother nature to the point she begs me to mark her mine. cross her cheek in transparent baby's ink. this is vile only if the eye crossing the page finds the snag of word play to catch a fancy phrase.