Johnathin has lots of sex,

but doesn't get much out of it.

Reading, I get even less.

Sensing my sympathies these

vultures, terrorists.

When skin is melting metal,

transferring every want to their brains,

replacing every image, leaving half.

(and reading, I get even less.)

Already molested,

and dancing Olympius.

Undulating, holding,

secrecy revolting.

Line up, line up here and wait for

the bold.

Replacing all I know you know,

receiving less acknowledgement,

conducting ceremonies,

toying with the end of-

His skin is light,


wondering what the cost is,

more worthy than all of us,

ignored, he's reading Sylvia.

He exists without it,

replacing correct images

and perversions

snaking in, not barring,

not creating,

just undulating.