Anti-Gravity Altars

The coddled fell swimming
In the mountebank stubs
Of the Serpens Caput
As a needle coddled dry

I found
A gag and gargle
Of the ballistae
Little known

My headache was spinning
With the rotten first tide
I met you in frustration
I’ll love you in my mind
Thirty felt it grim
Like everything you do
Spits before a shutter
Am I in sin

So I will shape my covenant shells
From the rostrum that fell
When I spermed in the batter
So I will shape my covenant shells
From the rostrum that fell
From my hedonist garnish