I have seen the poise of an African King a regular irregular guy,
with a pointed chin and a crafted tongue he said that this bird can fly, ah I old but an infant, he mouths with lustfull lip at all the girls that walk by.
You and me devour identity, ravage up reason and decency and whirl into the life long maze ta clak clak clik,
Catholic pricks the beautiful bubble, defouls the raw intensity.
What is left after logic and selfsacrifice?