Tiny Desk Confessional
(to Effie)
Eye of the port
as the storm nears
imperial bedrooms quaking underneath zodiac trees
last supper inspiration
from a deck of cards
where communion has been rendered anything but
roller-derby brawler at the end of the world
fall down
crash
burning bright
a celestial tigress aflame
claws tearing vapid skies
truth telling in a realm of toxic positivity
where the land that isn’t your land
is just the land
and so are you
skin to skin
beauty marks
corresponding with astrological projection
where do we find the reflections of oneself
but in other’s existential dread
in genuine paths
in the places of dead roads
where romance has no place to fluctuate
but the nature of one’s being
alone
no longer withholding
the desperation of truth
we all wish to speak
a tiny desk
confession
the root of it all
Horror Sleaze Trash 