how many dances does it take to dance upon the head of an angel and get away with it. so many scars i lost count off the skin of careful bones . and so many lacerations, and this many incisions, and that many amputations, until there was a corset only of stars upon a bare soul with eyes looking back at me or thee.
how much body walks across a black stage and calls itself real? how much stage does a soul need before it decays into uranium? how much magic before you see the animal in a god, or human in a stone lying upon the gravel driveway?
how much disease is just another kind of lifeform? or how much porn creates a heaven? or how many poets do you need to get eaten by crack or joysticks before that drunken angel appears on the radar a thousand miles above the city, igniting so many marquee stains along the sky.
take this buzzblade and cut down the sound which mixes concrete along the summertime, but maybe you think youre better off being less star and more tv. they all pretty (comma) anyway right? indeed, it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks, a madman once said.
no no leper art thou. you consider or eat the little ones, tis all justified. so long as youre fat or skinny or whatever