Refreshment for the Exorcism
Laughing young spend their days Expanding and collapsing
Beautiful faces running Under a condom yellow sun
Like the blood of another planet Makes us all afraid
Refill for the Exorcism
Sex announces Great Vespers A mock altar as big as teen culture
Grooms another and disappears O gory baby I’m thirsty
In perfumed smoke For a cup of light That turns the air cold
Con
Tiny lightning bolts help me burn a mirror.
Eyes are of minor misuse.
A little more ceiling falls to the floor
As we drag ascension.
Entropy impresses us upon an island
Full of banners and blurbs.
We depress for days
Without a single wardrobe change.
Our awful locale offers ace vindications
And lawful schooled burns.
Happy brain wikis become the norm.
Bruise datum helps me tic in the eternal laundromat.
Ritual Holiday
A glitch of bullshits makes my day water.
In one dimension I’m made of letters.
In another you wean from a baking hot crag
And soon become a senator.
A thumbs up carves a sightseer
Beyond all recognition. 666 goes the couple
On a beleaguered mule in a tropical apex.
Their happiness dooms a thousand ships.
We know not what we do, duh.
Skulls get sick and look to worship
And we are reduced to egg-pale pets
In egg-pale rooms. Later, the new religion
Heralds grim reviews of ordinary food.
Brad Liening lives in Minneapolis. He is the author of Death Salad, available from Schism2 press, and he can be found online here
