Come follow

Strike this body,
and stow it low.
You say, "Come follow."
I will not go!

You live in fear
of moth and rust.
I thirst the way
that can't be touched.

Oh God, please Heaven,
grant us reprieve.
A corpse in the mirror,
who is not me!

It thirsts for things
with shape and form,
but I was there
when it was born.

In pain. In screams.
In blood. In muck.
Began the clock
of moth and rust.
Before the good
becomes corrupt:
Let's walk the way
that can't be touched!

Oh strike this body,
and stow it low.
You say, "Come follow."
I will not go!

Beyond the reach
of moth and rust.
Let's walk the way
that can't be touched.

Who do you love?

Pick up your eyes.
Don't stare at your shoes.
Stand up straight.
Be dignified!

You're in the presence
of a courtesan,
the finest courtesan to ever
bid you how-dee-do.

You scoff and like to think her
naught but a glorified prostitute.
But the truth is...
as you lift your eyes...
drink in her curves...
Her perfume captures your olfactory.
Her smooth speech like honey to your ears.
You agree to e v e r y t h i n g she says:
you're not listening to the words.

Prostitute she may be,
but the erection in your pants swells.
Your sense appetites certainly
aren't offended by her profession.

Do you desire her?
Do you want to possess her?

Pick up your eyes.
Don't stare at your shoes.
Take your hands out of your pockets.
You're in the presence of a lady.
Where are your manners, man?!

Look her in the eye.
She curtsies coyly,
blushing on your behalf,
pretending not to notice
the bulge in your pants.

Where is your propriety?
Are you completely unschooled in etiquette?

Bow back when someone bows to you!

Now tell us,
mouth salivating...
erection throbbing...
Tell us solidly:

Who do you love?

Perpetual student

I graduated from nowhere.
I've accomplished nothing.
As a perpetual student,
I'm really quite dull.

My teachers instructed me to read.
Only now, after years of patience,
can I string together some broken sentences.

Apt, I am not.
Sharp, I am dull.

Lessons have to be repeated over and over,
and when I finally get it,
I just see how far away from wisdom I truly am:
a great chasm between here and there
that could swallow oceans;
how much easier this simple fellow?

Why don't the teachers give up on me?
Maybe they teach a lesson of faith.

Other people have degrees and knowledge,
are decorated with medals and titles.
But me?

I have none.

I graduated from nowhere.
I've accomplished nothing.