Black Flag of Pestulance

standing knee-deep in the creek and deciding between baptism and drowning doesn’t seem to be much of a difference right now as water-cold on the hot-blooded skin of sin burns i don’t care that it makes no sense that i touched the panic button of her heart to become the black flag of pestulance popped up left with a number to someplace in outspace so tell that to the last man on the moon standing hip-deep in the creek water rocky bed beneath where stones have teeth and cut the feet contemplationg a watery grave of a lifeless baptism that can hear only the roar of the upstream mass as i cry silent screems and still don’t care that it makes no sense because I am black death caught on a wire fence hurling downward and there i go again watch me wash away my diret and grime but not the stain of wrong standing neck-deep in this creek body chilled mind-numbed fast flowing moat no mossy stone to turn or float as i get swept away even as a flash flood passes me by left standing jus’ short of where i entered baptized once again the thunder dies away not dove overhead but the bluebird-of-happiness sitting on my chest carried on my roaring voice don’t look for me there for earth moves and i am over here somehow i have collided with myself no worse for wear so bid me adieu before my wants want to do you sweet and not even drunk and not drinking of the water that will swallow me whole where you can catch me on the turn around if you can find solid ground