Letra God, or whatever you call it Sprain

God, or whatever you call it

These first two drafts rejected with a single written critique:
“It is rapturous still, the way you fill a page. I find it to be lacking.”
In clash of celebrity and landfill
My depressing little you-know-what-at-this-point is pointing down
In the phenomenon of event and object and the miracle of their description
It’s still pointing down
I’ll fashion a new monument
Out of my imitation of mammal curves
And set that sun for us
Shame constructed all my morals
While passersby all bid on the Lamb as effigy
Humiliation is the blueprint of my morals
While passersby all bid on the Lamb as effigy

It is rapturous still th? way I empty my mouth
Stillborn ideas plus fertil? hips
Maternal Lamb belly
All eyes were on her breast reduction rosary
Lamb struts these contractual obligations
With the former vernacular shame embedded
You can’t force a needle
Apple, pear, hourglass
Hourglass, apple, pear
But I’ve got a concept for our nativity
Assume the position
Black lace on a pale ass
And you turn around and smile
We both make it red with ten million spankings
Soft white snow onto which the Lamb is bled
I imagine my conversation with the Lamb to go like this:

“Hello, how have you been?”
“I have been well, and yourself?”
“I’ve been well too. Thank you for coming.”
“What nice weather we are having.”
“I hope you continue to be well.”
“I hope the same for you.”

My conversation with the Lamb went a bit more like this:

“Would you not take me into your divine consideration?”

“__________”

“Would you not be gentle in your examination?”

“__________”

“Would you not have me sing you softly to sleep?”'

I can’t sing if you’re looking at me

*Lamb Sings*