Bluff – o son of the gift of blood – though all my ways be subtle
There are many see me struggle with the steps that I push forth,
The fools I must contend with. Learned in symptomatic way there’s
Much I feel’s reflexive – that such as one might gather from these
Avenues of bliss, there’s risks I know I’m taking just by walking
Down these streets (until I reach: my point in making).
In a sense, this is how I know I’m looking for what few words
I command; which illustrious claim to power I’ve since
Abandoned or, developed into a speech of destructive own.
Lost, in triumphal archetype honed to misinterpret the
Active structure – reactive pleasure in none other
Than the aches I’m dedicating these temples of
Caves at my point of safe, this brief space of reassurance.
For the first time I am made to be my own, and again
This thing like lonely is an instrument of choice,
Brings what comfort might pervade to grant these senses
Poor reward, no moving matter. Urgent in the wake of
How I make to feel I do, that I’m no longer a part of you –
Admitting in this last step towards a cure how I preferred
To be without it. Now it’s out there. The sickness speaks
For me, it wears my face outwards – as staring down the
Barrels of a twin urge to confront, reaffirm, represent
Myself openly – the image of a barely willing to reminds
Me of release I feel entitled to. To say the head forgets,
The mouth remembers. You’re as close to the taste as
The thought – so I thought – and you’re fading.
Neither for nor with – either this mood of displacement could get me
To alter my speech, pretend that it’s something like this I am missing
To really express just how much I detest it. It speaks. It is patience
When the voice breaks; the adult tongue comes fumbling through
A razor’s sharp appeal, by a simple urge of splitting when to care is
To contain, to avert is just proclaiming what is secret that I carry,
Say it’s over for what vices I explore in slip and suck. Like stab to
A heimdal chest – stub as I keep protesting there are rights I make
My own as I resist. Words in spew of rainbow brag, guessing through
A way that has a mind of its ecstatic own – as I pull toward my cons-
cience known to half betray, half impose of its vindictive nature.
Like a figure stood between my path and growth; omen to an end
I feel approaching – wrong to see me now retract and reaching
For the means one eye keeps winking – and another, blinded to.
To mega terrible event – displacement of earth – attached to preferred
Catatonic of state, cataclysmic by saying (the words not intoning): this
Measure of cruel, prepared in perfecting the strike to a fault, the silent
To come to the blows it intends, the smiles it pretends to inflict as it’s
Sending wrong message across, false pass notwithstanding.
Dishonest, sharp of weapon and destroying what convention I felt only
Total honesty could take, could mean that [hiS] protection elevates me.
Played the joke – it scares its agent – there is nothing this transparent
That can save us when to speak becomes the act; to affirm the solemn
Fact-ual/uality in have (of like a shot at no –) [hE doth repeat] – me
Thinks I ought relive the pain but I’ll admit – the heart races a little
Bit – the writing becomes a habit in the manner of expressive lash –
Now masc relaxing as the stature asks, pressure builds – all is tasked
Upon converging one, expanding other supreme. Known by way in
Which to pray turns worship on its form – off its function and then –
As onE might intend: still performing. Of a myriad informed – & its
Through isidiac veil – though my own be repentant –
A light at my eye carries over from blindsight in hind,
Forward in having this impulse resist, this form wrestle
From me what few words I own, what symbols I’ve made
To collect as I keep them abounding and scarce, dumb-
Found and preparing. Vague spells in faint healing of
Gestures in willing destruction of self, a strike in the
Habit of restless when down – in tropes to this chain –
Half open half shamed to see this reoccur; feel my vices
Exposed on this black flat of earth, this dark of all world,
This unfolding. One name at every tongue revealing
Of a spark to set the flesh ideal; archaic in size; rising
To the theme in acheing prose and made to push against
All compromise. Burning by returning what corrupted
May prevail – elemental to the touch in vile – united
While in ailing – to connect upon the surface of ill-
uminated fall, power of my fragile act in conscious spur
Of will, uncertain path toward fulfilment. Built from
Every fragment of a punishment I carry – [of] a sin I
Dared commit to spurn the Godhead I’ve destroyed.
To driving sleet and mist, or else just ice in shapes of cup,
Concrete and barely held together. By the rinse of acq & ig,
Trace of how it melts is kept on fingertips and scrape, torn
By all false pass I make but still – return to whole, react
Accordingly. In the measure of what bounty is prepared,
What evil reared to pour upon, act full and passive judge
-ment on these issues of my flesh, matters of disinterest
From perspectives as suggestive as your own. It turns
Into itself: comes full circle. Round as what is made to
State its form, develop from the flaws upon this shape
New meaning. Hermetic and hieratic – and devouring.
Pain from short of breath, from long of thinking.
From the empty spaces cut in palms of hands,
The weight of ink flows ove’ becoming name
And work and burial. Finest body held to feral
Shape, discipline discerning and distasteful;
[autos] where the thought of might suggest –
Less to keep this closeness in affecting change,
Rather how so young can make impressions
Last for ages –
But I’ll admit, I’m yet to see an end to.
Origin to suffering in garden of no light,
Words to bring no comfort to the mouths
Where they might land. For briefest of spell,
Lengthened of least likely to assume some foreign
Form, cis-matic way of teaching – taking normal
For supposed avail it’s not, suppliant plead
Entreating a reaction from the Void.
More to keep from showing how what’s
Empty might fulfil, uncertain will its
Way to being plain, more of the same
Bland nil, still bursting.
As they’ll admit, the marks on this man could be
Misleading – by following, refusal acts itself
As the acceptance of a need not understood;
Neither good nor bad; fragile nor persistent.
From obsession changing hands, novel urge
Demanding anxious breath, and grovelling.