Cure

Flurries of quavering wind, seeping through cracks, everywhere across the spectrum, window, flue, chimney, vent—faster than hell, more stable than iron, breathing, pulsating, palpitating; interrupting, breaking, commanding,

 

flurries of quivering sound, percolating through consciences, haphazardly everywhichway, high, low, loud, soft—singing, sighing, striking; gracious, forceful, detached, gliding—tugging at unknown depths of the soul, beating at the heart’s cold walls;

 

blinding light of day, take me in your warmth and your rays, shroud in your intangibility the quick of my marrow, burn it, sear it, cauterise these wounds from which my soul bleeds; take my eyes, my skin, my body, and toss it to the heavens,

 

quietude of silent night, take me in your solitude such that my weary self can rest, veil in your darkness my upturned music that drips down unto the earth in blueblood droplets of small letters, breathe in me, curse in me, wreak your peace in me;

 

oppressive blanket of sky, cloaking the earth all around, notbreathing notfreeing notsleeping, watching everything that happens around the world at the same time as everything else, simultaneous paradoxity of theory and colour and bent light,

 

soothing wash of sea, calming, slowly trapping, inexorably expanding shrinking, alive as the smallest mite in the dust, dead as the world once was, blue, grey, green, purple: lullcalm dullground where life comes from, sounding in the silence of the beach;

 

ticking hand of clock, slowly pulling at each life on this plane of existence as fragile as a newborn chick, gradually unsighting us, unhearing us, unsexing us with the tide of the unstoppable and the infinite, draw away the sadness and pain in the world,

 

sweeping hand of god, changing, moulding the face of the planet—by time forgotten and by man revived, ever one, ever many, many in one in many in one in many, cheating lying wheeling dealing with the least of life and the darkest of demons;

 

eye of the blind, what do you see—a whirl of colours missing your mind, a milky darkness inside your closeopen lids breaking the hardest of light, mixing in the milieu of iris lens vitreous humour the profanity of sight so lost,

 

ear of the deaf, what do you hear—a song of harmonies whistling through the cracks where your ears are not, a melody so beautiful coming from you and yet inaudible to everyone else, a nascent palmclap drumbeat ricocheting in the nothingness,

 

skin of the leprous, what do you feel—a million ticks borrowing under the surface of your unconsciousness, an unitching at the back of your neck, your hairs standing erected with not a thing to withstand the wind, a cut, a decay, an infection untouchable,

 

tongue of the insipid, what do you taste—a lost lover’s tongue beneath your own, never to be taken again, the soildry mouthroof coldly calling out its wasted curves, the stingpain of words spoken and never to be spoke, glass sand water bland,

 

nose of the anosmic, what do you smell—a fruit of nothings spiting your sense, a sweat clung on the littlest hairs on your upper lip being detached by your hand, an odour of past present future exploding away in the deepest recesses of your lungs;

 

vulgarity of white moon, virgin pregnancies month by month calling out to pubescents, stoically standing high up above as if to usurp the place of the sun, pathetically exerting shining screaming for attention, hid behind a cloud of indifference,

 

elegance of yellow sun, radiant unto invisibility, oil the rusted clockwork of this earth with your haughtiness and lies of other worlds above, take the sleeping beings and jolt them into awakening, tear the rains asunder to stoke your own fire;

 

cursed depths of heaven, where all the salvated go, unseeable unreachable, untelling the secrets of your palpable existence, to obfuscate to swindle the believing, to satisfy an arousal to quench animal instinct and natural religion, home of rebirthing,

 

hallowed heights of hell, yearning for each and every soul of this existence, stay in limbo the inveiglers and say in pride the causes of your being, where all that are true are raised to, in highest limits and infinities of time and wonder, sated lust fulfilled want;

 

love, take me from this purgatory so that flight will never be withheld from my tired wings that beat helplessly against the floodrealm of jester’s caps and fool’s gold: show me the truth, show me what is true, and when you tell me you do not exist—

 

hate, take me from this purgatory so that desire shall stain my body no more and wanting shall be left for the end: show me the truth of eternities and deception, that the autumnal rain of yellowgold and redcrimson and brownearth leaves know;

 

beauty fill my eyes, sadness fill my thighs: take my manhood and let it be where it will, take my heart and impale it as a beacon on the highest citywall in any universe: my head shall be a delphinic oracle and my eyes shall tell the future:

 

memory of the senile, walnutshrivelled and atomdecayed, radiate all lost wisdom into a higher kingdom where children feast on knowledge hid from them, pleurate your brimstone weights where the hungry cry for thirst instead of a filled stomach,

 

sodomy and fornication and unrestrained humanity precede the coming of the infinite star, pure and red as the colour of dreams, and there all the philosophy of worlds both ancient and modern will collapse into a spinning black hole without charge,

 

that this may be, if this may be, when this will be, vortices of vertices spiral into boxes where lives will be neatly categorised into: laugh cry cut sigh good cheery bad weary, and angels and devils alike will copulate a frenzy into the next sentence:

 

there is no syntax no grammar, no rule in the sentence, no period no flash, no overarching law of patterns and worlds and beads and ideas strung together on the gibbetic electric execution dartboard, the finest feeling of niceties and bound tape,

 

existences commingle and consummate in the antitheist god, where commentaries and contradictions cover their reduction from absurdity in the greater morass of solar masses; protons neutrons electrons quarks mesons twirl whirl eliminate annihilate—

 

this is the nonbeing in which we all want to be—

 

thus be, and in being, be saved: blood as flows through your body will flow through the gutters of life when death comes, because life is the affliction and death the cure.

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