Post-Prac-Ergo-Proctor-Hoc

Actually
the reality must
be
that lust is like nothing

The type of nothing
that fills shelves at
grocery stores
in war torn

Countries
or countries tragically
empty of emotion and
tasting like a cold dusk.

Lust, is to me
incoherent
post-prac-ergo-proctor-hoc
a touch of

The brown wristband
of morality,
that fits too tight
and kills the hand of

Cabes,
your grateful author.
This man designed
to fly. to Love

And yet
falls. Devouring smells
of burnt hair and
rotten teeth.

Lust
begins as if a
small elf is stoned
on cocaine.

Seeing life not
real, but reality gone.
The man, Cabes
stops time

Steps toward
his little elf coward
friend.
The elf building

A castle to be conquered.
Even David, King David,
you know, from Jerusalem
takes time out of

his busy king day to
conquer the stoned
elf's castle.
Lust

the castle screaming
into the night.
gnashing it's rotten
teeth.

knowingly steps into
the past, causing
deliverance of
pests.

You will know
the elf by the sound of
heavy black leather
toenails

scraping against your
soul.
It comes, Lust,
to fill the shelves

of grocery stores
in war torn
countries to
feed the
children a bite
of insatiable hunger
they chew. Empty
mouths'
playing pretend
games of
Dinner Party.