Life teaches, “You do what you can, and suffer what you must”
The only thing assured in the Enframement is transgressive obsolescence
An advent at hand, the Artifice envelopes, clearing in words
To posses and Desire; proscribed in fire
Then dissolved in absolution.
A drowning child
Worlds exist to perpetuate themselves
They raze a causeway to Tyre; reach beyond towards nothing
And do it again.
And the Morningstar of Concentration pronounced, again,
“I got greedy arms, and I’m superstitious, always”
Life, unworthy of life supplicating smoke through stained glass
Fascinated, with its face caved in
And the other forms of paraphernalia
Things don’t die; they break
And their sinews of limbs, transfixed and whining for “Presence”
In the Celebration.
Entombed with care
And thrashed against
The Endless Wall of Traditions.
The spasm of decay
Transgresses the body exalted
By the moss and mould of Repetition.
The Pulse subsumed by deeds
Reproduced delights
In wanton abject Immoderation.
How soon until Death?
Presumed taken and processed
By The Machine of Attrition.
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