Pendulum

Death dealt in return for tomorrow’s service
Drab moonlight’s tender song
Along the river-banks all along
Bubbles of lava and scars of pumice
To home, to home, to home we go
Where family awaits, mother and all
To hold my hand and pull me free till I fall
Awakened by the pendulum bleeding to and fro
To and fro

Ecstasy trapped in the eyes of a whirling dervish
Lenses of glass curving so wrong
Around the camp these crowds do throng
Pleasing the ghosts and such is her wish
In her sleep reaping and prodding to sow
Such family awaits, mother and all
To sever my hand and push me free till I fall
Awakened by the pendulum bleeding to and fro
To and fro

Universe of a theorem

Awakened from a decade-long sleep, the theorem,
Finding its limbs chained and digits shrivelled,
Beaten to obey laws that never had frayed,
Mildewed and grey since they’d been laid.

The foot cocked upward pressed upon the heavens
Eyes that sans depth bored into the pits of hells.
Stoked to the awareness of a new god, the pilgrim,
Groaning under the weight of its faith unto him.

When stretched to a node of previous worship,
The strings snapped and hung, limp and lifeless
The will that commanded them, illuminated,
A smile that watched with secret regret.

The universe of the theorem was shrunken, transformed,
Malformed, pushed toward the fringes to remain
For the years to come, silently awaiting
The arrival of black, the arrival of a cruel king.

Ode to Patroklos

Where were you in the clefts of stones?
You were running away and running far
Where were you when winter was gone?
You were hiding, weren’t you, you were hiding true
Into the distance like a fading star
I, a harrowed man, marred with scars

I speak of my love but not a woman lost
I seek what I never did possess but a gift
I speak of a trust but not a wife murdered
I seek the will and the life between two
But I will destroy when its wings scatter adrift
I will chew off its muscle and break its lift

The father of wheels and the beast of spring
Like the fires coursing within my veins
Churning and brewing and frothing and foaming
Like the cyclops of Zeus in their forges of grit
Cure my heart, wash off all the dirt and stain
Cure me and bring me my blanket of pain

In the heart of stones dwells golden Grendel I seek
Flesh of the blackest bile stolen from dying Theseus
Give me spear and shield, a mirror to watch me bleed
Give me my death, no sweet release, torn and shred
So that I may drown in puddles of lust
And watch the blood decay and crust

End of minutes

At the last second of that minute,
Raul stepped over the panel and tripped and fell,
Bringing down with him cans of paint and reams of paper,
Raining down around him like the residue
Of his father’s time, and he smiled aquamarine.
Strange in the room of dreams was a holder.

Propped upright as if awaiting an artiste’s touch,
Holding its ground, cornered against the wall,
Feet bathing in yellow ink; whether ’twas the fading orange
Dark omen of imminent darkness, whether ’twas the success
Of his dishonourable quest, whether he thought
The moment was come to salvage him mercy,

It seemed as if ’twas his purpose; Raul picked a brush up
Flicked off a tear from his cheek, but were it not
For the volumes would that have been splashed,
And cantankerous strokes of aureolin, byzantium, chamoisee
And tyrian, cherise, wisteria and chartreuse were born,
Bred, sliced and slaughtered; for the portrait of one soul

Would the walls of Xanadu refuse, for the knowledge
Of one life would the fires of Xanadu suffocate,
The purpose of another hand that yearns
For the brush it long lost?
A moon even that distant has shadows to flaunt
And breaches the windows of youth;

Ere long the surrender is delectable, detestable,
While fate, that blameless engineer, would contrive
A victory of it’s otherworldly hue; Raul turned
To face the doorway and so chanced upon the form
Of his father, silent, raptorial, a trader of pain,
The murderer of tomorrow, the consumer of destinies.

Fire in the sky

Sun, western sun
Son of the sky; there, up high.
Heifer on grass where thieves pass.
Parse sorrow for a plastic morrow.
Tomorrow’s coffee brown to see.
Sea-faring for gold to bring.
Ring the door, ’tis home galore.
Lore slaughter, O Persian daughter.
Proctor prosper, bloody whisper.
Sparring crown all the way down.
Downtown belle with heart to sell.
Spells abound all around
Found done like the sun,
Son.

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