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A Simillacrum May 2018
I load a fat bowl.
I insert stem.
I trust my lips
at the hole.

I see a split world.
I hold it in.
I let the lies
matter not.

Beyond a pale veil
beats the bitter heart
the soul of destruction.

In its own realm
it lacks the fear to lie
so it reigns unashamed.

I burn more trees.
Invite the ash in lung.
I cough out Ebajalg.
Invite the joy return.

Wind through the lazy curtains of my window,
Music enter my limbs through vibrations in my toes,
Lit only in moon and blue cyber light I ignite the signal fire,
For someone, somewhere, also in sweat in demon dance.
A Simillacrum May 2018
is it any wonder
social constructions
**** the soul?
i am born.

entire constellations
ingested by men
who stole the
braver buck.

is it any wonder
the higher numbers
**** the low?

artists hide their holy
proper alkahest
swirl into the torrent
eyes fixed on the hole
going full Atropos
by slashing tethers
and teaching us to fly

is it any wonder
construction kills abstraction
encrusts the brilliant stone
in destructive gray?

is it any wonder
emotional capacities
have been bled from me?
they must bless the fallen
they must make Halal
the bounteous
human feast

an exoteric world rises
while one esoteric burrows
in bright dark underneath.

two parts of a whole broken
banished to disconnection
when dichotomies could meet.


. . . SCAN COMPLETE
SøułSurvivør Dec 2015
---O---
^^---^^/\^/--^

the winter Sun is birthed
between the knees of the hills
crying and smitten by the morning star

alone, it makes its cold way
through grey skies
an albatross of tarnished silver
bland and unimpressed by the
roiling cloud cover

it will peek its way out at times

traversing the frigid sea of sky
it finally drowns with a whimper in the
maw of the mountains

to be reborn... made glorious summer...
in the Antipodes


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/5/2015
To some death.
To others life.

— The End —