And bodies full of war
Slowly choking on rages manifesto
An apocalypse clipped around my throat to hurt hell.
i made to carry buffering ossuary of heart debt with emotions taxed with feelings
living about shadow’s glade made vocation to be zodiacally revenant
amongst who fail to heed to ask the cause of rain
alienated from my continued and distant brain reinforced in sanguine melancholy
always fast forwarding to yesterday to be made to criticize the dawn
using realities swagger for own purposes in sui genurisity drowning
with negative vibrations.
Last insult the ear sees is the gun gun gunning goodbyes.
I want you to memorize this:
“those waves walk towards me,
The dorsal fin comes intercoursing in acute gray perpetually intense
Dripping into wet October
Sermonizing being spanked out of an ocean meniscus.
Who hunts our bright oblongatas as animals?
Always taking my fire gone.
We scorpios are inheritors of night drown
Mimicking wilds, -a sensation so shucked
Giving poems an abnormal birth scribing genre and genderless colors.
As the birthright to Mars
Accused of manipulating sound.
For first contact with the outersphere star-friends,
Should be harem of scorpio poets,
Before the rockets clip their steel necks on pluto’s moon claw.
Lucas Alan Dietsche to Scorpio 10/21 on eve of my 40th birthday
Xennial Poetry Notes: Pilot of Oumuamua 