When specks of ash float on the breath of the last great tree,
When the heat Scorches the final blade of grass to dust,
When the sun dares to rise again,
We will prevail.

When the ocean’s great white waves blow back black,
When the last leaf sways down to its final resting place,
When the clouds seem to always cry,
We will rise.

When the breeze whispers it's melodious secrets,
When the earth stops beating the drum of its heart,
When the water’s legato rhythm becomes jagged,
When the fire eats up everything that is left,
We will feast.

We will devour the last of mankind.
We will peel skin,
We will pick nails,
We will lick the very fingers that once fed us.

Unforgiving,
We take the young.

Heartless,
We watch them burn.

Happily,
We yearn for more.

In the end,
I rise to take my throne.
Stepping on empty skulls,
Snapping, cracking, and
Creaking to sit upon the empty wasteland of bones.

I smile,
Sitting back to admire my creation.
The birth of something new.
A perfect melody built just for you,
And this time, you better sing.

I remember swaying on the verge
Of dark and light, before and after, to and fro
Whence to the world of forms I was conveyed
To suffer just as any other human being,
Within this futile form, confined to bear
The sin of our fathers’ fathers and so forth that stems
From the first couple of the world, banished from Eden,
Seduced by vicious serpent and condemned to toil, and bear
And multiply; and so through ages was it in the progress
To finally conclude in my true self; for I remember light,
And cold, and pain and darkness; the metal cling,
Sterility of white; but then before my inner eye is cradle,
I lying there myself with strangest sense of missing,
Of lacking something too important to express…
Oh, yes, that was the point: I am unable at the moment
To express my swarming thoughts… or rather figures;
Or maybe even outlines of perfect things; and from
The misery, despair and sorrow I try to do my best,
But only peal or rather shriek is able to emit from breast
Of mine; O Lost, O Ghost, in this world all alone
That for eternal wandering is doomed to travel from one Eternity
Into another; and then again, again, again and one more time;
For the machine for ever is in working, and all the clogs
Are always greased and oiled; and there is no way to break the circle,
Or just escape, to be no slave for torture, to walk and see no time,
To sense not the rotation of the earth, or in the utter self-esteem
To deemed yourself the mover of the planet, that just because
Of you is possible the progress
Through space and time too vast
For us to comprehend the wholeness of the Chaos; for chaos this
Still is for sure, indeed; and how in our conceit can we so be deluded
As to believe ourselves the bearers of the knowledge
Pertaining to the mysteries of life; O Lost, imagine now you can
The first my feelings as a boarder of this stage; for sure I am, as
Spirt is immortal, that dusk is but beginning of the dawn.

I remember my own Conceiving,
Stridulation of a loosen springs
Of jalopy parked somewhere in the rear
Of an upper level of a parking on the
Skirts of town forgotten by me but
Remembrance still is vivid as if I am
Creeping on my four to to the shaking
Out of tune a little vehicle with lights out
Both rear and front and litters of used Condoms with ***** filling and leaking
From its rubber carcass and butts Smothered though some flickering still
In the darkness of night on the skirt of
The forgotten town where misty and Panting glass was to and fro to and fro
Up and down and sidewise with a chance
Limb or feet splattered against sideways Windows leaving a print of sole with
All its interlaces and wrinkles and crinkles
And toes with torn flannel out of passion
Or just lost on the skirts of the town
Forgotten by Everyone but me where I am standing
Watching my own conceiving by monster
Of a doubled backs back in the car in the
Town where lights of out but reek was
There as if inherent in the very concrete
And all blocks and bricks and levels and
Tiers and I remember there my own
Conceiving as I was standing there on my
Own four and creeping up to swaying Lizzie and getting on my hind double
And approaching the panted and misty
Window with my both eyes reflecting
And glancing back at me at which a
Moment ever I arise with sweat
A-dripping down my temples and back
And cheeks and arms and breast
And wall in front of me in the dark
Town forgotten by everyone but me in the
Car where I remember was my own
Conceiving

my shirt barely fits over my stomach
my belly is a bag of granny smith apples
**** and plump
misleading in their sweetness
underneath growing ten-fold each week
all the different fruits for growth
leave me anemic for heartier things
tenderloin heart, blood steak
there's a biting pain on the side of my hip
that feels like what I imagine a dog nipping at your heel
could feel like
and I hear it
the small squeak at the bottom of a storm drain
a miniature kitten trapped in the middle of concrete and hot cement
it hasn't rained in months
and my mouth starts to water imagining
the dehydrated lungs of an animal
that's destiny has been sealed

The overture sounds a muffled thud,
       And scraping flesh against macadam.
Un-rosined bows screech across nerves,
                     Dividing molecules to atoms.
Each neuron fires off, splicing into three
The soul from the body,
          and something indescribably between.

Catching fire, he ascends -
            "This is what it truly means to be!"
Each piece, each side
Breaking away in-finitely
To somehow become more whole
Through division, and in balance.
                  Like a reunion, of holy trinity,
                       Caught ablaze in fissile symphony.

                   -  -  -

And like a cork popped from Prosecco,
Rewound, and played reversed,
       He careens with a whining pitch
       And
                 f
                    a
                  ­     l
                          l
                            s
   ­                           From orbit,
                                  Back to earth.

Glimpsing God
Only to be clawed back
To the pains and pleasures of Samsara,
        To taste the bitterness of my own blood,
        Transposed
        From the ecstasy of Nirvana.

This is how I came to know the realm,
     In which our feeble bodies lurch.
'Ere I was born as a phoenix
                       from the ashes.
      In the rear cabin of a hearse.