The Divine Suicide Of K.

Better think of my answers now because I know the questions will be asked Like if I brought the joy I found in the confessions of a mask The tip of my tongue's already touching the top of my mouth It's meaning manifest in mercy burning down the house It's true that tactless teem totem-poles turn tolerance to tired taboos It's true that a bullet never knocks on the door, it's about to come crashing through Walking one last mile in big steps as your alter-wine Doing it in tattered shoes that aren't even mine Because my own are in a box locked up with possessions I can't have Like the gunman with his future and the prison priest's golden calf Blindfolds aside I'd probably still close my eyes And try to feel a trembling fetal life inside that shotgun barrel that's about to make me bleed Like an ulcer in the stomach of the beast Like a little girl on a bed that was years ago deceased Resurrected last night with a letter she can't trace Resurrected to be killed and maybe born again I'll always be Kezia so long as any hope remains