The Symphony of Tired Soot in Restraining Trembles

Beauty of moons untempered like lips, like fomenting grass curtains growing before tempo rides,
show tunes where Scrub Jays like God pasteurize guns in the fostering heat of a dozen squires.
Each and every one of my songs envelope a message of prosperity like the thunder of running dogs,
backing heat, crazed beats that do not give chances for barking or palms in the squires of sleep
where repetition is God’s diamond cursing book never meant to be attributed to Her/Him, but we
will take the greenery like folded chairs on the porch of a cabin in the woods where we can think,
away from the deleterious fear-grown rapids of silly games where Amsterdam journeys and hope
trials like singing “The First Noel” did not mention you with the weight that She/He ever intended.
Now come near, and hear mean jewels that I will give and you can take if you act. Burglary crescent
for today is just a shovel and tomorrow is a broken heart. I have been dismissed by black curtain
rooms and I do not intend to let you go unnoticed while you work the dismissive and coldhearted.
Stoops of wicked solidified, rollicking tempestuous grips of stationary stairs, on hips of milky coins.