Intellectual Snow

Cataplectic trivia machine
your spouting lips reek of condensation.
You’ve got no regal power here
in the middle of obscenity
sweetly hot and dolefully serene.

I’ll placate your taste
with battery acid
in the form of verbal diatribe.
Such saccharine bullshit you ooze
it’s baffling that your mouth ever shuts.

Babble me nonsense in the form of queries
ask questions to delight your senses.
Baby, its scented in fetid rage,
driven poorly by hate
spasmadic derivations in primordial cage.

Don’t bathe me in salt water
or red laced tears of regret,
lets summon the monsters
from the serpentine depths
where they sleep in egress.

No trivia machine will skullfuck my thoughts
where why’s and hows drive what we know.
Blizzard the minds eye in cold sheets of intellectual snow.