Room 17 on the road between Cincinnati and Imwas
2 feeble minds, who their mother despised, patrol their bleak horizons
They’re looking for meaning in shallow mirrors
Can a god be found in such self-regard?
James Donald & James David find themselves in finance
The low morals of Hamel & Bowman got fat off the the taste mediocrity provides
And up jumps Sulfurous Pete, a wax German Nazgûl in the blood of the innocent steeped
“Combine! Deform! Convert! Repeat! Initialize and drop the periods, please!”
Teal-skinned Scratch says, “Transform for appearances. A link of the chain, manifest in politics”
“And I’ll tell you my vision. Just don’t ask where my boyfriends go. Drop to your knees, whey-faced boy and drink deep. Cuz the old and the poor, the stranger and the meek gotta go. Close all the gates to them. Adding salt to wine to make blood is fine. Adding spite to flesh to make bread is fine and good”
Room 18 on the road between Middletown and Damascus
A floating head fearing death gestures towards prayer
Its mind is bent on technicalities
If deeds and words are your worth, perhaps conversion failed?
If it’s deeds and words, it’s fire in this world or the next
It’s fire
If it’s deeds and words, it’s fire in this world or the next
It’s fire
