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I once had a birthmark on my left shoulder.
A baby screaming in agony bore this mark,
the result of an injection
which was meant to protect
my helpless body from infection.
From danger.
A neat little sliver of protrusion
surrounded by a crater,
the moat to my microcastle.
It once proudly stood alone,
a landmark against impurity.
My forefinger would sometimes
drift off towards it and circle cautiously,
perhaps its feeble attempt at time travel,
taking me to my days of perfection,
of honeydew and home movies.
I would once again feel familiar fingers
that ran over the lonely guardian,
as they washed my flawless skin,
fingers kneading all along
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All of the phonies are
licking your flesh away
but you find no reason
to tell them a thing these days.
nothing will kill you
but I can’t believe you think
nothing will hurt you either.
It doesn’t surprise me anymore.
That icy bruise,
wrapped repeatedly with clay and powder,
refusing to budge, stubborn. It thickly veils
the blackness from me but I forget the joys of
pretending. Each string is slowly plucked until
a form of glorious resonance is reached.
Yes, a resonance of hatred and
filth that blocks all else and speaks in red words.
And it winds, backward and forward.
Like a pendulum of blades,
slashing away into the air,
moving closer with every second
Until
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the flawless wrinkles
settle gently now.
Creases of water
force themselves
upon the murky
minds of infants.
The exteriors delve
into sinuous stains
of plasma, scattering
e v e r y w h e r e
to take
over the clear veracity. Gasps of air
interrupt the silence;
whispers of death.
Limbs
stop jolting.
Scarlet sins flood her
eyes.
The wrinkles do
not return.
A spurt of
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insomnia
white sparks surround my eyes now
addictions that will not leave anytime
soon
a second of sleep and it’s over, a mirage
nothing more
back to work where the devils must have
their share
of my flesh before it rots and ceases to
envelop my bones like
a warm blanket on a homeless man
droplets of creation are hurled out by
screaming eyeballs
they solidify and create the exterior
that I go on with, in social killing
fields.
yet I find myself wondering every day
wondering of other worlds
wondering if a single
moment not governed
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good night
Blends of alchemy
linger with a certain
anxiety.
Time to present the void
with exquisite elegance
and make believe that
we matter.
The magic’s wearing off now,
great tyrants empower
our hope.
Corporations
project humanity
and our utopia
scares the
dread away.
Then it begins:
breathtaking transformations ensue,
monsters reveal our lunacy.
(...)
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