The Surgery of Will
a practical incision.
remember, the sky’s the eye.
salvation’s in a current.
creeping through stark highways.
drained, the yawns fail to fool.
artifacts of neglected prophecy –
clotted memories, lesion-worry,
flaccid synergies, an internal cemetery.
a figure, coiled within shadows of worms
hissing silently, bloated and greyed.
shivering in the gelatins, it is Clarity;
the nude profound – she whispers:
hold me, take me, warm me…
break me.
only to insist: just don’t warn me.
I downtune the cello,
unsheathe the violin.
aching joints muster
a frosty hell:
nerves pluck indelicate.
a sole stingray of matter
severs out its second death
in shrieking astringency:
crescendi of doom;
dilated aneurysma.
the eggs of spider static now pierced,
the brood emerges only to scramble;
the queen’s scorn felt in the single blink
of a thousand retinas in retreat.
a squid-like propulsion emanates
from the spongy fissures.
has the generator ignited?
she prays for epilepsy.
hypersalvation.
submission:
bandages tear from the wound.
chaos seeps out in vulgar snakes.
the chemicals begin their waltz.
a shockwave disperses.
the cerebral ocean feeds
as the leeches finally still.
hyperconvulsion.
metamorphosis:
I, shed of substance & skin,
already a ghost; merely
driftwood on the sonar.
she, as if by eternal return,
divorced from Confusion,
enthralled, resurrected;
the paramount mother,
the tempting mistress,
existentially devoured.
