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In your eyes I wish I wasn’t so unremarkable.
In the Comfortable facade you have wrapped me in,
MY wings have been stripped, tattered feathers.
On a cross you sacrifice me and LOVE.
On a mountain far away from Calvary.
Though it feels like I hide in Suburbia.
On the ground below me no frankincense.
Just the myrrh – myrrh of my own voice trailing to the abyss.
A Quiet Night…
Beyond the daggers of sheets
a rib-cage of serpent dwelling will fall.
The breath of thighs will cross stitch
faster than a factory of sewing machine gunners.
Gristle will sweat from bones
splitting envelopes into quakes of sucking.
Hackneyed lips will rest along ridges of musk
as lonely beliefs crumble.
Copyright © James Cornish.