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
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