Communicide

Communicide

A Freemason moth winks at me unbelievably.
Seems the 33rd's recruiting.

A vulture, ripping and gulping down carcass, sends me a smile and sings:

"I delight myself in you."

...The search for more ends with a sigh.

Let's shoot Ferrell in the knees.

Let's cast Oscar out to the Wilde.

Take that good heart, cut it out. Cook it. Smoke it till it's black. Serve it to satiate our appetite for vengeance.

They'd like to put a collar on my mind.
Torture me until I've got a thousand-yard-stare.

Author's Note

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