Sitting it out on winds rooted in fire
I’m the God at whose feet Yahweh is daft
Meantime the god uses thieves for his craft
People who for Yahweh must be the liar
And it’s Yahweh kissing soles of my feet
On avenues the rose and the lion meet
My words leave Yahweh drunk like Lasisi
On munching my words Yhaweh’s eyes then see
Lately how so irreversibly and
Utterly daft he’s been by my left hand
And Inanna tries to hold her laughter
But this laughter choiceless she must utter
In looking at Yahweh just always dense
In coming before my divine essence.
Copyright © SITTING IT OUT by Simpa Omoluabi
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