The scaffolding is falling from the rafters of the old church in which we hold this service, the piece puzzle raven is the director this evening and we shall read from the book of sex and wisdom. Life incarnate in a minute, we hesitate and stand straight and sing together without voices, just whispers in the nightfall.
We shall rise to the occasion of the calling of all memorabilia of older days and were summoned, risen back from the master/slave country. I will shake us free from our thumping of former chains, forging ahead we reckon with the once fallen serpents- now monsters of another nightmare altogether.
We unite together in a coven unlike many around in the times past and forward of us. The Speaker of the House will need a second to that motion, we calm down and sort it out. Crimes of oil and blood, government and tortures of the state and mad rain men that sit in juries and on stands now, swearing and muttering about the coming of the Disciple Age of serial photographers and planes in plain sight.
Careful ones high up on the ceiling on these matters, miss the machine by even a moment will help you catch a whisp of relief in the crunching feeling you have in between your ribs. Honestly, hot sex helps me. Connecting and turning us out, we are creatures that don’t mind to beg for a moment, crawling on the dance floor, stomping the lights to dim I shall distract us from the turbulence, from the unknown stations of the cross. We wait to thirst through the draught and see the moon howling again in the daytime.
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