GONE

This crown of thorns don’t bear no fruit,
While Adam is split by a rigid root.
What does the soul of a living man weigh?
More than a dead one on any given day.
And your smile – the part where wonders align,
Is torn in half by the tears you cry.
You say you don’t want to believe it, but then,
They all went and auctioned your best ones again.
I’m GONE to the world, to the touch of his silk,
Can you taste the bitter of my thick, sweet milk?

For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, the Glory,
All over in one Holy Ghost of an orgy.
Captured in fractals from looking glasses,
While writhing around with unsavory masses.
With caution I swallow your one true confection,
Behind closed doors, and within my confession.
You say you don’t want to believe it, but then,
You cry from the other side of the Mountain.
I’ve GONE to the north, to the south, to the west,
Chased cowboys and Indians and silhouettes.

My compass draws nigh if I’m not mistaken,
As I bend to the ground to feel on your snakeskin.
Lassoed & damaged & lost & alone,
I’d go where I left but I haven’t a home.
A sick king am I, as I go for that crown,
Which bears no fruit and levels me down.
A rigid root, that splits my Adam,
And beckons me still, with or without it.
You say you don’t want to believe it, but then,
My soul goes from living to dead once again.
You say you don’t want to believe it, but then,
I’m GONE to the world, from beginning to end.