in the gold room now
So eager, to be—correct, licking lips the taste of fruit and labor.
Love: if there is one thing I will teach you to believe in it is this…
One act—play; behind the iron curtain of (s)our selfish hearts—there
Lays a motherland, a fatherland and we—their habituates; lead them
Not into desecration—of truth, alight by false publication, the players
Mask—the idols made, of creation. Children worshipping golden calves
Of short paper-skinned existence, as this war of soul rages infernal,
Internally… yours. Return us not to desecration, but rather, honor
Self and those we love with proper embrace. I love you. Once, can you
Believe me? As my acts dis-align with expectation, my acts—define
Me. So if it is this—needle in your hole, or that—soap to this s(k)in which
Finds you—find, so compulsively—impure, erase the act, in ways which
Do least collateral damage to this soul-fabric weaving us together in
Time, or unraveling through it, filling a cup with rainbow threads as it
Drains the glass—enabling bent clarity for-sight. See me now? No?
I’m not really here? Silent Lilith, sighs, deep and low, through night,
Skies, morning, supple Eve, blossoms, white and pure, pure heart until
Her sin is also a mock in me. These names, these Stories looming
Thread to thread—creation, myth—weaves, our blank-blankets
Of existence, perpetual “healing” through creation—of man’s common
Xenophobic remedies: fear—fuel—fleet—hum of desire leading hate,
Inspire, in anguish, and her—endless abandon. Meant to love you,
Humanity, with your sordid tales of my filth, in these skins you tattoo
With the ghosts of the hunted, darkness, pasts, as though your light
And your reason are the only thing which matters. Build me yet another
Army, yet another tower, yet another crest of nobility shuffling loyal
Subjects through yet another shadows fall of the Ages—for the books
Of history to piece together as they come to be through; Her with You.
