Swiss German
And the obsequies begin
in the capital of sin, stroked
unbecoming gin. Quizzes given
on Swiss dialects, which the
Scion promptly aced without
however knowing Swiss German.
Decyvere
O parlament of errores
Decyvere purveyeing ungaudly thinges
In what way can it then be asserted
That the ultimate fruit of the home-bearing
Ecclesial organism is the emergence of a
Civilization of love?
Resonant with the divine
Trying to renew their hope at the font of conservatism
They keep failing not realizing
The will always fall until they recognize
The scandal they live and are.
Poked padded preteritely unintended
Those slugs you can’t unsee.
Acknowledge to a fault
The lie that lies within you
The tumbling oysters of gratitude
The fond semblance of mortal essence
Turpitude and you are the new bamboozle
Baby makes three, gasping, dying
Of salt in its wounds.
Abeyance
New prayer for old satin
Stains on the winelist
A papyrus of envy
Faltgoing for the world
Non est culpa mea
Stroke selenite
The end the beguine
Pixellating mountains across the pond
Pterodactyls confront
The lack of resurrection
Corn spirit as a hare
Eating for gods but unconsumed by them
Philosopher as imposter
The degenerate who becamed prez
Nietzsche as autoimmune reaction to post-kantian idealism
The malaise which outspread as hands in prayer
Continueth
The vertigo fastening
Anaximander the first philosopher who wrote words
And thus traduced the tradition, epimanically
Learning to play a game that’s really not all that fun
Nietzsche was willing to call BS to the quackery of his age without however
Replacing it with anything lifegiving. That’s the disappointing thing.
Instigator, aphorism vandal
Titanium perfume
Asphalt deodorant
Still haunted by dismal germans
A trillion buddhas self-enacting
Why a Christian philosophy? Why Not? Why Not, indeed?
The felt under the hammer
Is felt by the hammer, as well the anvil.
The shavings bleat, bleed, and glow.
Feeding the machine
In a way refusing to feed the machine
Holding in abeyance sparks, motes
From the candle dance to flicker hither-skelter and fro
Along the branches of conundrum.
But taking oneself to seriously…that’s the miner’s descant,
The disenchanting and dessication of the whole gourd and
Its consumption by dung-beetles.
The braying of charlatans and the prayers
Of imbroglioti
Apex
The smoky light
From Cleopatra’s voice-box
Cries sharply into the wind.
The steel cable snaps
With a report like a gunshot.
The bats of euphony fly from
The belfry.
Few of us are left to watch
The proceedings. We who remain
Are tired, thirsty, and aching.
Our souls have been crushed under
The weight of scores of misbegotten
Engineering projects in the Emirates.
The swamp flies billow in waves
Across the gas-lit plains.
The stalks choke on flame.
Our Sea in the middle
The dreams and fancies play it right
Mechanically speaking what you don’t
Dare think because you don’t believe, ever
That this could be the end of you,
The train. You just pretend
To be the apex predator.
Dark Place
The dark place where
Power and music
Come from heat
The moaning without light
Souls consumed by the
Predators themselves consumed
By Saturn,
A door cracked open
Smoke and sparks
Upward but no illumination ever
More meontos, an ocean of sorrow,
Unshriven.
Downward the passion of mountains
Forgotten child limbo souls
At doors thresholds dust
Crushing the levels the layers
The purusha oceans
The power of Mammon the
Grift stream of the nova of the
Ultimate ocean. It greases the monster
And makes the machine purr.
Angels cut off from the throne.