If I could write a poem as ancient
as the energy before the first stars
I would know it as a point where
everything belonged without being
formed into solid state, but
incarnations of a density of light
And would you think, I am possessed,
at this juncture, by sheer carnal poetry
of mangled lines, malevolent adjectives,
nouns that speak of war, verbs spelling disaster
adverbs that confound, prepositions that
impersonate apocalypse
You can say I taste my sustenance
in a rhythm that curses lyric and rhyme
that falls apart at harmony; the jugglery
of words breaking building blocks
of life; and reflect an onomatopia
that snaps at this infernal sound and light
of all your beliefs wrapped in material cardboard cartons
I can feel the bitterness of
such manifestation becoming even more sordid
as it proceeds further in time! Would you think
that Ouroboros vomited such slime?
I am not pardoning the villains of misadventure –
exploiting, predating, defrauding, corrupting,
forgery, theft, degeneration, poisoning
These are the dark energies that convoluted
the first energy, if it should, then, meet them at
every distance and frontier traversed, and greet them
with debase hitting their minds, even if they are devoid
of conscience. If you must be informed that you
should no longer be abetting an inflammation
Aliens, who rapined, deserve an alienation from all existence,
And would you all be, then, returning like fallen words,
reassembling silently and dutifully into the beauty of the original poetry!
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