A raggedy man known at the gathers who’s sometimes a cover art splather,
dashed for the dowry but forgot to reconcile his position for the hereafter.
His Ann resigned now from being a blow up Stan.
Grammar, he wields like a kid with a hammer.
So sure he’s the goat that he didn’t care to remain yoked,
instead playing the costly okie doke for spiritually poor jokes.
He’s a diver for cyphers but spends his money on trying to hide the fear
from putting the nice guy to the side and not surrendering
to the call to decipher to be righteous o’er chilly nice
to all the bad guys with tear drop stained eyes.
A petty Netty nasty to the classy classics, walking ‘stead of riding
in blood soaked cadillacs his crew forgot to shellac
’cause they lacked the knack for hygiene and tact;
Lower life forms…an ET’s leftover paddy wack without the better act;
Inked for better but submitted to the red and black without a horseman to anoint their asp clasps.
Reacting to Holy as though they were the last to realize
not to relax the power to demons wearing Christian masks;
Demented copy cats in hood hats who’ve spilled good all over the exit mats.
Now he can run home and cry about that to an overpriced enabler
donning a sable telling him he’s piteous of old recycled fables
he wears as labels – 2nd and 3rd run.
Insulted? Still more to come.
He’s a messy Nessy reacquainted with greatness through my Divine blessings.
“Too big to fail” but his coffin still has nails and
his wind blows hard to no avail against my sturdy sails.
If he has a mind to derive a thought, he’d bow and
be thankful for the lessons he’s been taught.
It’s not about demonic club clout, it’s about the Holy walk.
I’m faith filled and devout.
In me, cypher found…no longer sought.
by Jerriè McGill