Solving by a flame,
I must be so happy
When born into the world.
Burning on from millennia,
Passion breathes all birth
And end
And everything in-between.
Welded by the inferno,
My face molds to a mask:
Chalk-white as paper skin,
Flakey strips for lips—
My expression alarms.
Into light,
I have projected death
Into shallow screens
With verbose screams.
Emerges towers of babel,
False prophets come as i.
From the pit to the crucifix,
My corpus, my words,
Spreads so thin
As a caricature of God.
I am heresy,
I am the gnostic,
I am conviction
For and against truth.
I am stripped conviction
Of inanity and insanity
Behind and between
Intemperate intellectualism.
Held up to heaven,
My head is afoot
and upturned in disorder.
I have seen,
In violent retribution,
The vehement falsehoods of it all.
I fall to turn
To watchers—
Those who churn
My melted body
To the callous grounds.
In perfervid *******,
Burdens strap to backs
And i hold this as novelty.
From its forever conflicts—
Agon of life and fore,
Bodies are torrid
And these ravishments break.
I drown in flaring flagrance,
It bleeds me dry—
These torrid bones of mine.
These final gasps
For air to dust,
I die to an untrue hand.
By a crooked hand,
My voice is seized
From an inflamed throat.
I lie,
Ardent,
Ad a martyr—
My life and death
Has been pretension.
