My heart belongs to daddy

Good seed but he wants to be evil or beyond himself. He wants to turn peace into a totalizing / violence sublimated into form   and poultice of late capital  shafts and spokes  of impact/ hope   those mourners  who are actually celebrating   the last angel  in history  come  close  to their childhood tricycles/ archetypes/soldiers of the hype machine I go forth from you unmuting, groping the air  near the sullen orange  tree    preacher   man    preacher   man,    I lied  about  the color  of the tree    blood  red  as with torment as with liberation lynched men and criminals  and token leaves    as with fast song  into slow song and back  like  morning, I lied about where I belong to get there and    who needs a heart and I made a list of people who need a heart,  quenched my fear of withholding