Contact

we've came into contact
w/ god's perfidious manic
staff
the one which plots
all hells and heavens
the one which assures us
impatiently
that's there's no other haven
for us
but the perfect enlightenment
at life's end
the cradle a-rockin' again
god's tender hand
keepin' vigil

but life is endless...
there is no resting time
all havens are illusory
the vigil has been
accidentally
shot
in the head

such a very brave laughter
followed...

the little red hole of pleasure...
the tasty self-portrait...
the legend...

the waves are electrically served
upon our eyeplates
already degenerated
dimlands
we so childishly take as our
home

so sure that we exist
so sure that we move on

so sure - yet still in the same place
still in contact
w/ our mirrored
mediums
only

still spitting out
witnessed
monologues