The fallen final incarnation of
the Abhorrent Whore of
Yaldabaoth’s Babylon

What breeds the soul—
So dark & dastardly
So sickly twisted inside out
Past last Tuesdays 8-ball
Before nine followed by jack & Tylenol
She’s choked the last pass chance
To dance-on past death
Naked & in the vest
Maybe that damn mad Russian was right
The line dividing good & evil
Lies not tween executioner and—
His french-fried Cajun
But falls so heavily…
Across the human heart
And there behind every
Walking flesh colored—
Damnable arch-demon
Is a wounded cub who’s swords turned…
Ever inward
And not the pretty palatable pricks
Parading as puppets for...