the dead-lift dread drip starts,
a-right about the moment you do.
shift simmering half-past,
I get this grave-gut-drop like event horizon,
and baby, baby,
you’re eatin’ all the light in here,
and it’s been night for so long.
so come on, steady that bead,
hold that pulse,
d o n ‘ t
b r e a t h
and in the director’s commentary,
you can rattle all the times you failed to pull,
but this time, this time,
lose the gravity,
pull that trigger.
let that ravel rave on and on,
while we get that pop and corn.
it ain’t all ’bout that drop and scorn,
but that don’t mean there’s more.
g
u
n
s
h
o
t
e
k
o
m
s
but never, never, never the sound.
dread-eyed, steady armed,
‘n all the event you can see o’er the horizon.
So beautiful love,
when you’re wreathed in fire,
‘n callin’ the dead-old-soldiers,
with cigar smoke bodies,
‘n that tobacco musk.
gunshot smoke,
‘n there ain’t again.
you got legs up to apocacalypse darlin’,
‘n them fire-line fingers.
Ain’t had a chance since that chance made us meet,
watchin’ you siphon stars,
crack them creakin’ ol’ planets,
pullin’ on everything ’til the give gives,
‘n the brag breaks.
You’re a war-lord witch of highest court,
with hex-gun machinations,
‘n dooms-day drives.
and that,
that’s a hell of a lot more than I.