Aorta Avenue
words by Chris Mosdell
For it is written:
In your gravity harness you will plunge into the skies
Your flowering blood will carpet the Roar Glade
Your walking will weave a litany mat
And tongues will be tangled into cacophony braids
I bless you with the sign of the Dyslexic Drumrun through the Gilded Skull
I bless you with the sign of the Thorn Shoes and the Fire Slippers
I bless you with the sign of the Scar Boy in the Choir of Braille Wailers
I bless you with the sign of the Harvester of Riot Berries
For it is written:
The twisted street will be straightened
The wan face will be coloured in flaring anointments
The howling head will be quieted
Parched skin will be smothered in quenching scents
See, it is I who rides blindsaddled with the scribes
I am jacked up on void noise, eel fevers, stupor juice, drunken rumbas and birth glows
For it is written:
The winged stones will come flying in
The disturbed will be usurped by a rapturous calm
Those who wait will be bright human bait
Coated in magma musk and slaughter balm
I bless you with the sign of the Toothed Vision and the Singing Spines
I bless you with the sign of the Albino Ideas in the Coma Clubs
I bless you with the sign of the Machinery of Soothing, the Medicine of the Nil Pills
I bless you with the sign of the Great Globular Breasts of Succor
For it is written:
The buckled and bruised will be incarnated spangled and sequined
There will be the birth of the Alluring Icon of Eternity
The clamp suits will be loosened and necks will be freed
There will be smug-rugs to lie on and energy entrails to read
Jewels will stud the cheekbones, swoon-stones the lips
The drinkers of darkness will swell with light
While those who recite the Ruckus Catechism will be immune
To the beautiful jackal bullets and the Kingpins of Spite
And I will pass in long strides over Aorta Avenue
Combing little frenzies into my crown
Sharing where the static songlets live
And the quivering atomic constellations shine down
