Abortionist, We Are!

These days are bulimic:

A thin spectrum stretch across the sky,
pale pipe dreams in mere appearance.

Whenever sky vomits rain,
Sobs of widows grinning on a funeral is heard,
Spits manner in the face of an intoxicated past.
Falls like melted plastic peeling through skin.

It carries miscarriage

and provokes faith to be destiny's little whore.

If it hiss of burden, chastise it with work.
shady plots? introduce angles and curves;
abrupt endings have sequels in waiting,
Mild beginnings never begins until the prequel:
Blackstars are mildew cows held on zero oxygen.

As delicate heads wait for the razor,
Sharpen the wit well enough to cut through the necklines.
Rolling headless brains of Chemistry Lab Rat Riders, are
Matched with genuine profane declarations:

Of how bold the skies are bludgeoned with a crooked knife;
how love shines like a switchblade on deep cellars of the heart;
how roots tangle like a vein on the crucifix turned down upside;

They all rise to reach the towers fast
where anarchistic blues was born,
On an Angels harp played by Belzeebub:
A one-note song attune to the nature of disaster.
To the glory of the battle the weak has grown out
to survive--

For the horizons has stretchmarks,
A crucial birth for the womb is in waiting.