The Amenta
Solipschism (digital)
1. Solipschism
Refused, through the bough
And the Godhead is lopped
From the straining trunk.
From the knots of fingers.
I’ve fed you plates
Piled high with my lights.
You cough, you laugh
You leave.
The mind is a prism
And words, rain blown
And bruised on the bars.
Deadman walking.
An affectation of effluence
Shemfully painting sagas on skin.
I’ve fed you plates
Piled high with my lights.
You cough, you laugh
You leave.
Month by creaking month
A nail width closer to Christage.
The constant in the chaos
The I in every storm.
Drawn together, one of
Life’s sicker tricks.
Sever the heartstring
And run raw in the world.
I’ve fed you plates
Piled high with my lights.
You cough, you laugh
You leave.
In every Dreamhome
A Hearth ache.
In every Dreamhome
A heart attack.
A shamejawed,
gutsucked silouhette
I’ve fed you.
2. Labourinth
In the tangles of skein
And myth’s warped weft
Minutes taurn and twisted
Now corrosion’s jet cloak.
On the hide of each finger
The architect’s callus
Horned by choice,
Erases whorl and world.
Ravelless and tin-tined
Even meanings are lost.
Dead-ended and blind in
Seven of uncounted circles
Confusion
Hides the hole of its heart.
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