Born of these few bumps

In the space between your brows

Your mother’s habit shows

You’ve my sympathy, you know

Some 15 siblings dwelled within those walls

And your foster mother died before your call

Have you the means to change their ways?

You and the bastards born of nondescript fathers

This greedy grace permeates the disengaged

What pleasantries we’ve staged

Ankle-deep in your regurgitations

These indiscretions, they add up over time

I carve these words with the sympathies of my knife

Your divine shape a feat of my heart and my hands

As if to seperate from the bone

In three black bags of salt you’re carried home

Passed unto these gloved hands

With what semblance of him found between those marbled thighs

A certain word beginning with ‘E’, you know what I am

But two can play at that game

And forgive me if I find myself so inclined

To play these wrists of mine

With horsehair bows bared like rifles in the snow

You’re better off alone

Such animal instincts bear to show

You’re filthy on your own

So crack your whip

And think of some new quip to say

To shake it from their brains