The petition

Come lover, what will it take for you to lift me? What will it take to sift the gravel from the curd, the wanton wake of slaking truth from word, the slow gestation of the grit to pearl, the absurd separation of the mother from the girl, the surface deepening of churl, the mealy mouthed platoononing of easy terms? Come lover, but a speck, a lessening mood, a slatted smile, the finger scattish enterprise, the grains, the stains, the fearsome overburgeoning pain, the oh so clichéd salty tears where fears refrain from confliction's moaning ambiguities, the middle ground, the stripped affliction, the same, what tasteless taste for it. Whatever it is, it is not to be paid for as if the thus assisted did not sit right deadcentre: in our armchairs' living rooms the stagnant poor, the disenfranchised mess, the broken pityingless rest, as if deciduous help fell at its first offering. Hark how heralds scoff. Come lover, wipe that sneer from off the face of the powermongerer with a look. Grace, ah grace is the salt in the semen charm, of the slut, of the balm on the cut, the fire on the water, high, high high tide before and after the slaughter wash, wash away my pride. Come hack the alter ego wide, split opened like a fucked sky, sky high fucked. Come lover, take naught bye the bye, walk not the lanes, they are thoroughfares no more, no more the little dirts we crush-call humus cherts, have settled all their score for earth, for the likes of birds, leaves, bark, roots furl unfurl. You are more than worm who turns the penis a mightier weapon than the pen then and only then the shadow, shallow the shell pitching and heaving the sea to the ear, clear honey dew froth and spew the c u m cum of you, hands few debts to the masked missed moments when as lover oh you coulda had silence amount to annihilation, a stroke, a chest rise, the anti-Satan, anti-enterprise, unco-opted stillness of you imbued with steel, a crane, a reel, a pulley system amounting to a citadel, a fork-lift truck, suck enough to empty carnivals, all things elevational, tectonic rifts, contextual shifts, continental drift, what lover will it take for you? And in the lesser moods, the way the fool walks towards the cliff edge, the total way the sedge plays flute beneath the wind's platonic fingering, the sighing, singeing of the careless fire for brush, the sweet, sweet there there cooing of the simplest hush, the dread space as the stupid drooling figure steps over keeling in a greater knowledge than innocence could ever cover, hovers, head turned this'a way to plunder our sympathy, forever caught in naiveté, innocent simplicity, the sway, lover stay, stay forever, damn you what will it take, bereft flesh, time's cessation, to cleave us from this doomed separation, would take from the narrow, biased view all that might eclipse you wherein the unraggéd dispossessed, the lesser, ugly pressing, refugeeic conglomerate, congealing, crippled, bleeding bomb torn thrown out subnormal, ransomed reassessed could shine as if the scales torn from thine eyes and mine as if Saul's roadside thrown, blinding vision bought forth the calling of the countless martyrs and those borderlined slightly less than saintly others, hauling healing it wouldn't be too bad to sunder in the downdirt too, too jaundiced by sophistication, too over stimulated by such signs as say welcome aboard, the sentimentalised fraud of the advertising billboard, indiscrete and awesomely seductive, taints and the spirit hovers a helpless alternative second, plundered are our souls, no round recompense, no avatar for revenge, never a justification for spite, come alight on the first rung. Come, the slate is not yet cleaned as a concept, lost as we are to gotten gains. Conversion's thrall over the big sell. The unsung. Come lover, you must lift the lot, you must lift the blood, the clot, the grief, the snot. You must risk death, you must fall and fall to fall again. It is worth the price you pay for hell, is it not?