The Anarchic Liberation Of The Eyewitness Religion

Avoiding death is
losing the game of exile
My scent is decay,
all the empty milkbottles reflect
in my surface

I was sold at the river
to the red, replacable slaves
and the story became faster and faster
The map was planned out,
the black flag cries
and all books are cooked up

Think of a number
and divide it by me
something results to nothing
and nothing is nothing

An exalted destiny
approaches me hostile
I'd like to deny the inevitable
and experience the impossible
There has never been a number
and I break in diamond shapes

Only because contradictions
come true with every tread & change
Only because affairs
rise up by the dead & escape in new rules
the barrier will resist, if desired again,
the vennered exo-skeleton
Responses become, if received,
the winnows of my frozen pilgrimage

I can open the serpent now
and burn my lied out face
can glozing over wear down
thinking of the number
and not of the answer

You said, I wasn't a tunafish
wrapped in tinfoil
For all watches are silent right away
and I am much too big
to jump over the burning water

The table is gone
I'm going down
going down