THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[Eŋg]

random. expanding video
anthem. brandish a lantern lit - it's gold,
or charred orange the god posits
to his not-prophets who stir the pot's three contents
of its deposits.
leaves lock in the chastity so you can be modest,
and breathe honestly. you're deep. got it. don't sleep on it.
the quartz (from the cheek's) polished:
see onyx when the retina's detached,
simply seeking light but ill-respecting the black
or the darkness - where your heart is. light it up,
line the targets, see the parts shift and flicker
that our white-knuckle grip can wither.
soft hands, tough liver, punch the pate until its bitter
blood's spilling up - five minute slots
where i can't fit in stuff. life's little lot
but i can't give it up. or give enough.
so I spit a bunch of riddles for the fucks that pay attention,
sitting ducks’ slipping clutch on a timepiece of our invention
can’t ascend. then I’m repentant;
sorry for the disservice I’ve pretended to deserve but
i'm worthy of so much more if I could realise i'm worth love.