I heard Satan speak, once, on a plastic AM radio
My head knocked to the clicks and pops between his
Divisive five word bursts, so well rehearsed,
Rolling like a curse with blessed living stitches
And harmonizing pitches that could woo a corpse
To dance Morse code in it’s cozy little coffin.
He sang a Jim Carroll voice with a Charles Bukowski Style
of William Blake visions for a William Boroughs mile
With an Edgar Poe Hook on a Sun Tzu tone,
And the way it had me feeling left a moaning in my bones,
He crooned a cool apocalypse like rubber rhythm snake,
I never dreamed that purgatory was a short commercial
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But he was right back quickly, as sure as impending death
Breathing battery powered symphonies like sex; the thrusts
Were a liquid flex of blazing text that unhinged my knees
And the trees were even swaying to the pattern of his
oratory
lustful glory that made my loins quake and long for fiery
lakes
But it faded to static as I hit the boarder of Florida and Alabama,
And I never turned back, my friends, for fear of becoming a pillar of salt.
Selah!
Amen!
Juju!
Sis-boom-bah!
And hail Saint such and so forth for good measure!