I seem to think of things cryptically.
Hieroglyphics plague my mind like the salsa
of rattle snakes in the dessert.
When it’s all said and done, I have no more priority
than the makeshift bandits on television.
Robbery instigates a myriad of primetime
networks. Just how do those detectives solve
every case at half the price while still managing
to look sexy? That must be Victoria’s secret,
hidden just under the lacey sheets of misconception.
Voluptious bounties desecrate the crime scene
and receive the Emmy award. Yes,
this is what is written on the Rosetta Stone,
on King Tut’s Tomb, inscribed on Cleopatra’s locket.
Forever engraved on the underground caverns is the
secret of lust, theft, and death. We’ve always had the keys,
but one has yet to crack the code.
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