The Divine Suicide Of K. Testo

Better think of my answers now because I know the
questions will be asked like if I brought the joy I found
in the confessions of a mask / the tip of my tongue's already
touching the top of my mouth its meaning manifest in mercy
burning down the house / it's that tactless teeming
totem-poles turn tolerance to tired taboos / it's true
that a bullet never knocks on the door its about to come
crashing through / walking one last mile in big steps as
your altar-wine / doing it in tattered shoes that aren't
even mine because my own are in a box locked up with
possessions I can't have like the gunman with his future
and the prison priest's golden calf / blindfolds aside I'd
probably still close my eyes and tried to feel a trembling
fetal life inside that shotgun barrel that's about to make
me bleed / like an ulcer in the stomach of the best, like
a little girl on a bed that was years ago deceased;
resurrected last night with a letter she can't trace /
resurrected to be killed and maybe born again, I'll always
be Kezia so long as any hope remains