Merrimack Of Grace and Gravity 1. Sulphurean Synods Sulphurean Synods Beware ! the sulphurean synods have caught their breaths, Look at them ! Languishing at the foot of heavens, Wallowed on a mattress of sores that they take for stars… Intubated to factitious feeds, Sutured to the thread of a dissolved history Abused, mocked and molded by these famines adorned With sterile seeds growing under the milvian bridge… Look at them, grotesque assemblies of roosters and goats, Carved in their own mirages, in deceptive axioms… Hypnotized by the passage of meats, forever swallowed in the puddle of time, This collusion of gravity bound atoms, oblivious to what they are : A simple signature of things ? Here, the Enemy flatters sick nursery rhymes Since a rotten dawn… Crystallized by the passage of tides, forever buried in the backyard of time, This collusion of gravity‐bound atoms, oblivious to what they are : A simple signature of things ? And you still believe in them? In these greedy idols, in these slashes in the mask of the sky? And you still believe in them? And you still believe in them? In these occult and empty ministries, stuffed with fetid perfumes ? You fucking believe in them. For all that you see, poor and ineffable sinners, Is only its Drop Shadow… and already your wings have consumed inside their flattened destinies. 2. Sublunar Despondency Standing and still faces Covered by dusty shrouds Condemned to spell the alphabet of disease For relics have slowly drowned in floods The only thing left is a pair of bone‐made silicas Designed to cripple the wanderers seven spears still pierce the holy flank of a divine carrion confined in mud shelters He will enter the joyful bliss With a crown of excrements And a scapular carved to dismiss… On this soil may you embroider your tears Ignore that in your barren bellies lies the absence of the drunken son Icon buried in the pomp of apostates …and in the vice of varicose veins The world’s embrace is like a belt lined with thirsty brambles… Sovereign of unquenched thorns! Matrix of pale dawns that every second suffocate in the shadow of births… Death has woven in the threads of nothingness her lace of skulls and lotuses Lying everywhere like a belly that unfolds and sets gibbets on fire Warping as an IUD that becomes a snake And threatens to pierce the pleura of the pleroma. Revere feet already eaten by worms With my mouth glued to her breast, which the augurs twist. With my left hand I sign my repentance With the right hand I stab the crucible… 3. Dead and Distant Clamors Who proclaims, who decides, who announces the end of the orations? Who programs, who encodes, who distribes, who shapes our wells beneath ? Who clashes with our rumps and curses our engeance every second? Here, a torpid tide where hide the raised temples… Here, each second is due to stab my penitent heart… Who proclaims, who decides, who announces the end of the orations? Who programs, who encodes, who distribes, who shapes our wells beneath ? For he presents to the windows of my silent cell his rebounded belly of delirious star, obese with black, invariable seeds He arrogates to himself the right to crown with thorns the descended Word, to give to an insane tribe the laws of scourge… Who has superimposed on the heavens the labyrinth of hearts, the discordant corypheus of molecules…and sorrow… Who holds us at the end of a leash of abstruse galaxies ? Of giggling worlds, of one‐eyed eternities that blink over our lives their impotence to continue? Who stretched the web where our stumps have been scratched Who hides in the flame and in heresy of the orbits? Captive of forms that vitrify again this side of reality Attached to evil as a molested child Condemned to repeat the unseemly comedy of fate being played out He proclaims, he decides, he announces the end of the orations ! 4. Wounds That Heal Exiled from spheres… Now locked in a frostroom Lurking in shapes… Of his abolished Greatness. Escaped through wounds… Unlocked are these chambers. All that remains between the gallows and God is a century of dismay An epilogue which stammers its aporias which locks itself in oblivion Only this disarrayed time, this cutting where our gaps are clustered All that remains… What has become of His traces? So many hollow basins where stirs the broth of promises But nothing comes, the Empire is cancelled Only the ruins and their song of charms remain We cannot heal our wounds We can make them blades… Carve it as oaths in the face of a growing, expanding void And dismiss this obese grimace Made of impavid futures… I remain. From livid days to paraphs to counter the plots of the one‐eyed God The wounds are our churches but they do not sleep They have always breathed in the silence of dead skies In the great stale bladder that we hold as a cosmos When it is never anything but a monument to the dead. 5. Starving Crowns Falsify, eradicate, inoculate Falsify, eradicate, exterminate The century has been betrayed They have falsified even the diseases parodied even the microbes They have parked the cattle, brandishing the sceptre of crowned prions They have spread the masonic mantras of fear Like tubular spells corrupting the air… One by one, the components of an alphabet of chaos were spelled out We made it look like the end when there was only a stutter One by one, the hundred veils have been retired Revealing the old shape, the grimness of Light The only faith that remains is fear The only faith that remains is fear Plebeian processing, cognitive hacking, Fifth column serving retarded pontiffs from their silicon nests… Where temples burn, gallows stretch their shadows where the crosses fade, bacteria begin to swarm Further and further into a sanctified lie Death is not where you expect it It swarms between the pleura of the new‐borns Diffused drop by drop in the athanor of lies Sprayed like sarin gas in the pavilions of time. 6. Under the Aimless Spheres 7. Embalmer's Wine