EYE FOR AN EYE
Reality is a shell that shelters meaning.
You have to smash your way through to discover the truth.
From deep caverns of inspiration well up
the voices of our hidden gods. The golden
music of their utterance enshrines
our temples, overfills our ruined houses.
These orisons ascend into a sky
prefigured with deep omens, overcast
with rumours of impending epiphanies
about to descend and swallow up our fears,
engulf our perturbation. Our deep selves
implode in flowery utterance, sybils
reimpowered, re-envigorated,
poised in vatic similitudes of passion
while underneath we burn with clarity,
consuming each the deep eternal core
which fires the radiant suns of inspiration.
Poets, musicians, artists pouring forth
our may-day confirmations echoing
the wooded hills of home; choric
conundrums conflate all consciousness.
Buggered beyond bearing, we ascend
the exalted ara pacis, sacrificed
with flashing obsidian shards, our hearts cut out.
Thrown from the teocalli, tumbling down
a thousand jarring steps, our flesh consumed
by blood-stained multitudes of slavering apes.
30 апр 2016
