A quick eight...
I lace my sandals tight, saddle my camel, prepared to dismantle a Saxon Knight/
my dagger knife’s inside my Samsonite, burn a sacrifice wit Nazarites as my acolytes/
offend Catholic whites wit my poetically painted pictures, quotes from ancient figures/
their popes cloaked in vagrant vigor, my poems poke holes in their favorite scriptures/
their souls sold to satan’s mistress, pagan rituals, praisin victuals, moons and Jupiter/
delusional Medusas, since befo Methuselah was compliant to the science of Lucifer/
trials and crucibles, smilin at funerals, nervous shakin, can’t reverse the curse of Canaan/
while I disperse these sacred verses slated by the church of David—peroration...