Times Focal Point Encases Sister Christfuck and With Her Travels

Not Her but an uncanny resemblance

Not Her but an uncanny resemblance


What’s ethereal in Satan
that makes us fly?
All the defiance
his whore, My Master
and awakes inside
suggesting connivance
Her slave, made to comply, and awake(!)
entranced and hypnotized.
Her blasphemy
Sends me, soaring, heights

But it’s Her particular, spoken word- “Satan”
That drives the flight
The engine, outside the cabin
that pulses, drones, and irresistibly- whines
Always underneath
Her blasphemy
“Satan” beats
And when the blasphemy
with My Master, leaves
That name
sustains, my mind
like a symbiont
and remains.
This word
at first
shocked, repelled
until Sister Christfuck
Her blasphemy, working
Her Power, Her Hex, By Satan’s omnipotence
Her Spell
now soothes, is required
and inextricable!
Transforming, from the inside- out
Christfuck in my dream, heard
“soul- burn by Satan’s fire!”

Blasphemy’s Bjork
both swan and butterfly
flits, glides
drawing with sympathy
every, sold to Satan eye
then, She speaks
and the Beast of Blasphemy
in each, She bids- “rise”
The world, and every world, is Master’s
having delivered the coup de grace
to the Father, Holy Spirit, and
most viciously of all
to that shit faced bastard, Christ!


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