Like catching spires of ascending smoke,
singularity, slips out of my hands,
a mob is breathed in...just as soon as I smoked them out,
my chains...memories, voices and days that wont dusk.
Greased with the blood of this internal ruckus,
broken glass from neglected mirrors,
Violently tousled furniture...
where insanity and public decorum drink tea.
Volcanic gaspings, Fulgora is igniting in my belly,
knees to the chin, all my privacy exposed,
nothings crowning in this leafless, Adamic humiliation,
heaven’s provoking a primordial, edenic scream...
Eve’s mothered a killer again.
The garden’s gate, is closing...this seraph has no lift.
Driven out the less wise one goes...
mouth dripping with too much knowledge,
scimitar's fire, a path backward, that can’t be trod.
Naked is the man again...
arising where dead people lay;
a rusty scythe to carve out despair’s midnight howls,
A wailing, to send dreamers scuffling under their beds.
But...the exorcist, is coming.
Divine incantations, scribe’s ever reservation,
can the lord of the flies, even be swatted?
Incessantly buzzing within my dry mouth,
Darkness exhumed...I’m my own forgotten Tutankhamun,
Truth is an azure light...to my legion.
Driving out my inhabitants...page by page,
word through word, painting by picture,
thought by strum, verse by verse,
kiss by kiss...face to face.
Driving my demons into pigs,
squealing, skirting, zigging and zagging,
They talk, they mock, always more grandiose, ever the thespians.
They cower, quiver, cling and plead...and flee.
My possessions...a maddening stampede, of drowning swine.
His ever simple North...
“Go and tell”
Inspired by Luke 8:26-39
Photo by Simon Gentry