Post apolcolypto sinus pockets.

A little stuffy today.

Fill up your containers with whatever you've got,
scramble the children into Gods mouth.

Purging existence by a lonesome utter,
a gutter-mouthed preacher never learned from his mother.

Now the streets swallow us,
as we swim with metal sharks.
A vengeful hand is lost in the Gaza strip
in the midst of completed cellphone signals.

Post is the new pre,
and we pry for the past,
just to slam our fingers in car doors.

The grandest scale I knew,
when I scaled the serpents skin,
searching for myself,
was the grandest scale there is.

The water-moccasin travels the world in a night.
The mongoose can't swim.
Our savior is spoiled on one night,
and we're all left to live with it,
until we don't anymore.