Daughters Of The Valkyarie Poem by luke holt

O’ martyrdom
Sequestered in obsolescent forms, shapes, dimensions,
Vectors in hurt and ghost and germ
The sweet jasmine of her kiss leaks from the bowls of my neurological receptors
Until they tire, growing wearisome in their monotony
I hate the succubae that squander their masks and exchange vials of disease and emotional famine,
Reckless in their mute pagan debauchery,
They scoff and pirouette like harlots caught in the thick cytoplast of their own pestilent mutiny
They have jettisoned our phylum into the recesses of social lobotomy
Reaching for the inevitable touch of a true soul to acquire homeostasis
Is this a conspiracy theory?
You ask
Is this some pseudo-psychological shaman song that I’ve conjured from the incongruent babble that is absolute truth?
No
It is simply the Visine in the swollen dismembered blind eyes
Red with stimuli and green with gluttony
Healing the raw, tender capillaries that have frozen from limpness
And lack of love
You may have the beauty
O’ daughters of valkyarie
But you haven’t the answers