You should not read this poem. In fact, you should never read it. This poem is one I cannot accurately describe. I’ll simply say that it is a poem that stands by its own and that will be enough. As I deem all of my works of art worthy of an exposure, I have exposed it through this poetry window pane of mine. But, wait, you should by all means avoid reading it. This is not a poem for you, for your fine and sophisticated taste. This is not a poem you will find well constructed. This is not a poem that is worth your time.

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Jesus 2.jpg

Tis my will.

Let me remind her cold-turkey ass from this poem on that I’m not the dad

She never loved and never cared for and never carried along and never hugged

Let me remind this flower she knows not which spiritual essence I am of

As I know not who she is anymore and I am not one to love Hades’ whores

Let it be a reminder for all that my soul is not trapped in my blood

That my flesh is not mine to trade that my spirit is not a broken glass

For any of her kind to birth odes of distasteful taste or ungracious grace

Or else or else I’ll wage this holy war till I laid waste to all of her Gods’ blood

She uttered my day breaks I frowned silently and said her night breaks

For from a very young age her disdainful art grew addicted to the dark

I said her jaw breaks and listening to her no more I saw her star break

Let me remind her of this of this that I am not fearful of Lucifer’s militia

Seeing that that Son of God I met before has no debt of any kind with me

Let there be a reminder in her sky that no enchantress fire ever had the best of I

And never will.

— Gilles F. Dogbo

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