Pharisee

You throw your stones
I drop my own
You claim to love, but drown and disown

You hunt the truth like it’s a wild beast
Unleashing all your traps 

And like a thief, you string it up
(Never mind it’s dead and hung)

You beat the Truth with mindless fists
And claim you know it in your righteousness. 

“You are weak,” you say to me.
but I am strong enough to see
that you’re no more than a Pharisee.

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Help!

Ah! I propagate such worthless states
I kindle hearts with eating-haste

I sip the silver lip of eyes
The gourds of flame, of fire and ice

I whirl the spinning and purloin their stares
I whistle and whip up the ferryman’s wares

I catch my breath on the current of thought
And my oil-slick heart bleeds — a lot.