the illest illustrator of illustrious illumination

They fucked you up, your mom and dad.
They meant to do it, take my word.
It was all that envy they had
In that moment your life occurred.

It’s because they were fucked up too
by Sunday schools and holy men,
who half the time spoke words untrue
and half cried their solemn amen’s.

Man hands on jealousy to man.
It ferments like some baleful brew.
Come kids; start as soon as you can,
All of you could propagate too!

I hear the screams of the mandrake
as they are plucked  from the earth
by the cattle atop the knoll.
Their squalls reverberate
through the hills and down to the town.
In a hospital, a bloody babe
harmonizes, and the resounding shrills
persist through the corridors and intermingle
with the sonorous drilling of an instrument
that trepans a crown.  Outside the town,
the echoes reach a serpent, who hisses
and writhes, biting its tail.
It’s a sort of symphony
that comforts me, and ensures
an inevitable cycle.

A dark day to dare flight; clouds colliding, a weight too cumbersome for a perpetual perpetration; some perfect weather. Oh to break free from the bastion of bastards and to sunder the snags; see the swelling sun! Laudable, lingering, lavishing the light! I am Pariah, puttering to my pew; shuddering in shit, held sheltered; bent, buried, burnishing my belly. In an amniotic amnesty, hailing a hellish amen!

Without a doubt in our mind, we never cared to warn

the visitors as they strode in to hang up their feet

in a shameless effort to warm their soles against the

prideful fire; which cackled with a conscious, pure vigor

emanating a sweet aroma as they burned fat,

repeatedly flinging it on the flame, taunting it

to get a rise from the now angered element

that reacted proudly as we ducked outside, unmarked

by the god inside; unchained, now cackling louder. 

All within the room lost their senses while we waited;

patient, humbled.  We watched as the wooden apertures

submitted to the blaze without resistance; blinking

rapidly while the smoke, with graceful ascendance, rose

to the trees and blanketed the frenzied fire until

it was satiated and lucid once more.  We bowed.

Above a vast campus with

no intentions

as I walked across the terrain;

just stepping toward

what seemed like the only other human in sight.

Breaking through the distance I could see what

looked like a raw whip; a fresh branch

unattached.

Both suns cast shadows off scholarly pillars

composing an opaque grid over

what would become our bastion of battle.

There was no motion;

I decided to speak.

But instantly I’m cut off

by this insignificant man,

who introduced himself.

I am the subtle tide.

He spoke with flowing dignity;

a river—unrelenting and without pause

yet he was a pool—gentle,

reflecting my glances

and measuring each of my breaths

as he stood still, rippling—

my eyes flinched.

I found myself a weed in the water —

surrounded;  as he crashed once again

intercepting me.  Defeated I asked

if I could learn that. 

He laughed earnestly and said

no, but I could certainly become it.

Your smile descends to your jaw

like a parachute letting you go.

The pressure—excessive,

as you plummet

like a hale comet.

Letting go always seemed

a dark orange butterfly.

Wing dust smeared

on wishbone fingertips.

The blue below beckons,

churning like some sinister brew. 

The air—seething,

as you plunge;

a bullet piercing water.

Falling down always felt

a glorified descent.

Fingerprints stamped

on stained-glass wings.

Your eyes collapse,

like two spent suns.

The jaw—grinning on the shore,

holds enough light

to be ecstatic. 

I sojourned to the forest

Which stood bathed in loony light.

I happened upon a wolf

Who with panting smile spoke with delight.

“Mind your grimace,

Do not mourn this fair night;

But behold her splendor

At her majestic height.

Adjourn, and learn from the moth.

Whose urn is shaped from the yearning bright.”

And so I dove deeper yet

In woods cluttered and blurry.

I bore fire which shew a moth

In haste flapping and in a flurry.

“Live up your hours,

In this swift mercury;

Opt not to fritter time

With your needless worry.

Away, and survey the roach,

Pray it not betray you in scurry.”

In a leap I bound further

Into grand plants to arrive

In presence of a cockroach,

Who chittered with a spirited drive.

“Look upon me

And know you are alive;

For all that is crucial

Is habit to survive.

Forage, and pledge to the Recluse,

By imparted knowledge you will thrive.”

Now in fatigue yet I pressed with glee,

At long last to attain my delinquent due.

In the distance I witnessed an ancient tree,

Awaiting secluded, carpeted in emerald hue.

Determined, I pressed on at a vigorous degree,

And finally neared where the majesty grew.

Weary, I perceived the stock as if I were a flea,

Then beheld the sonorous voice which I did pursue:

“What stubbornly you seek in your debut

In my presence which surrounds thee,

Are things yet which you cannot construe

with your callow state that presently be.

Yet a few things ye have accrued

In your sojourn surely you’d agree,

Is the knowledge you doth pursue

Is not without your duration’s fee.”

The last time I walked outside,

only darkness.

We coexisted; I was content

with  its abundance.

A night un-phased by the

celestial aura of the Loon.

Yet by chance, or fate perhaps,

I was caught by a curious ray;

One that pierced sternly, justly.

I stood beneath the enlightening

beam, and cast a shadow

to the ground which

clung to the darkness;

an asphalt effigy,

opposed to

a light-post reverie.

Within the ruddy arabesque,

swings a pendulum.

My eyes are trained to them now;

the flailing, blurred space surrounding

the  gentle gyrations

reminds me constantly

like a swinging censer

that it was meant to be;

a melee with fate,

or just

more time to wait.

On the curbside I caught myself

staring at the asphalt as it glittered into a galaxy of broken glass.

I found the ancient, empty space in-between the stars

had light-years since

been kept from my oval windows.

Alas, I caught–the coroner of my eye

An L.A. Noire woman

With ruddy lipstick,

netted stockings,

stilettos,

a cute revolver—

and a selling smile.

The ad on the wall–Above the empty

Square black velvet case;

Mouth open; a white-silk grin

Reflecting dimly off the glass.

Before I knew her,

the hammer struck the primer

in slow motion.

A supernova of shards scintillated beyond

the cracked bullet-hole pupil on my oculus.

The bullet chiefly ascended

With no friction

To the empty space in-between the stars

Igniting ancient light-forms,

Cosmic residues of times long gone.

Yet no verity was lost.

No matter left unanswered.

My lens, undaunted,

Blinked back into the obscurity,

Amongst the dross, staring

At the smoking cartridge.

Deep in the confines

of the terrible tunnel

of the Beast,

I reside and bargain

for my release.

Like the fecal beetle

that urges new life through decay,

it begs the æther

to bring forth life

as it takes one away.

Transplanted peering souls

lingering and stray

being coy and asking questions

to the cosmos

“do you think I can prevail?”

I hear answers but they’re just echoes

bent by the stars and moons.

I who dare to surmise

I don no disguise but simply

feign wise;

I continue to query

to no end I’ll never bury

this desire within me to know

the formula, the theory, the thesis

Finally I stand; I’m free still

dripping with vitriol.

Weary but determined I scream

“to what avail?”