They went, like that which is not
in what is the way to go.
They took blue dolor in a bauble.
They burned it down.
They found yellow steam
in an alembic & smashed it
up with a pyrrhic victory. In this vat they put
the pleasures you knew
when you were young, held above
steady flame, collects on a black
globe & shatters into a green
effluvia; they made it so.
They took from you
your lunch money, knocked the scholar's
cap from your head, burned off
your baby fat & handed you a candle
made from its tallow. They
made honey from your mud: their
floor is a checkerboard & your
scooped-clean skull the
crucible for so much sticking.
Their giant brown bellows strapped
to your back, you stumble after
their caravan from one
generation to the next.
Nourishment is like to like, children of goats & wolves & the world can feed the mewling babe, subsisting together in one form...
Hail & well met, my fellow traveller, after so long on this winding road so far from home. When last we parted, we pro...
1. Black ray of calcination splits in two. Dire crow of thought squeezed through the fontanel. Mud sprouts from your eyes. 2...
A Scepter. A Sword. A Scourge. With an open eye, scope the beasts that fly. With a closed fist, greet the creeping things. A cr...