Oh, gracious Lemur!
Leader of the conspiracy.
Point thou phallus
directly
at predator,
as fang shadows
populate the living night.
Summon the allegories
that subtly teach
the ancient values.
Allocations of the Spirit,
a savory soul for Nature's
Last Supper.
To dance before the fundamental
elements strewn across
the etheric base.
Their existence,
a movement,
a breathing moment
of clarity.
Dancing is like
lovemaking,
this call and flow
of precious blood.
The storm-tossed yacht,
the man with a microphone,
grunting,
gesticulating squirrel
grows too tired.
Shrieks, but to still boldly believe
in the energy
as a possession.
Hey there Lazarus,
Foucault was a Fascist,
hired out by the Secret Police.
Archimedes, a Greek, a screw
Father, as a god, as an eminence,
twisted on a fate overtaken
by sluggish time.
Biologic slime moves
for the limitless.
Yet no mirrors would reflect
the actual scene,
the lactose parasites
gyrating in your streams,
laughing dream contagions.
