He could slip a knife in a conversation
Slicker than the last supper.
A lucky number if you get out
With the murmur in your heart.
Not quite a murder,
But the slickest acupuncture
Trick you've ever seen.
He could talk his way out of
Of the rabbit hole.
With Monalisa's crooked smile,
And a half cocked eye,
He shifts and denies to be followed
In the labyrinth in your mind.
Getting lost and planting the host
Of incredible mischief,
A mistake to misplace this
Slick thief in a sleeping mans room
Or in a tight womb
Of a fermented mind.
How time will tell how this Hell
Will break throughs Earth's crust
And touch the blue sky
And crush the white lies
He's told so he prevails;
A warm knife to butter
Is just a warm touch to a human hand,
Like his soft sputter
Is just enough to engulf a mortal man.
Rupturing the enamel around
The channel of the human mind
At the same time he braces himself for mankind.
