stumbling through glyptic loopholes
engraved on the surface of a black board
drawn with a chalk

what is about to unfold
truth spoken with grandiloquent words
no women in this haze

the leitmotif starts to play
when he crosses the place
which mankind calls terra

jealousy surrounding us with pale faces
cursed with a privilege of company
the curse of gold and palmettos

soon be the doomsday of men
disipient and dispendious again
not for the diffident

the teacher right behind with importance
gravity shaken, december arriving
the fluids overflood terra

fire erupting from geysers
praying for god to defeat the devil
without a response

the nile is emptied
sahara is a lake with mile high bonsais
the tower of pisa is straight

listen to the crunching sound
of zoophytes and their gluttony
and of terra stopping

a blackboard is not an ideal place
for uberous designs and creative taste
watch him be the devil

god is a kid, not older than this
space with a color of a scoter
sing my motet