top of page

Verse V

somehow in the way of truth is a mask of lies somewhere deep inside spiritual alignment


with just exactly what it is and how exactly is it that the hourglass flipped when letting down


one's guard just for a second an instant finding thyself to be lost deep in sand counting


grains out just to lose count and start again there in front of the face is a blank slate where


once was a living breathing feeling thing that walked and talked and loved whereas now


what is left is a shadow of a consuming hunger a dying flame a longing after thought a


hideous disgrace that seeks not what it is to be yet always knowing what it is not to being


anything at all a thousand raindrops fall and all of them the same all of them aligning and


fall at once in perfect timing and lifting back one and another and another the raindrops


rise one at a time in order to fall again from left to right and circling round like a halo spins


circling angel's brains splatter paint settling the wave form functioning round and round


each rise and fall never lifts nor falls one wave circles as one valley moves and within the


skull all collapses unto the devils horns renewed breaking through the skin againe to cut


the letters S I N with a razor blade back then it twas an agreement between man and god


to never question and ever look on down the path the twisting turns the spiraling whip hits


the back in front of the hanging gate carving a sigil into the plank to stand upon a mountain


and at the same time jump to hold out the palm over the precipice and feel the wind to be


back there again where the living live on into liquid life as life's liquid lavish lustful listen twas


a dream but a dream it twas and goes again to breaking the horns both at first yet second


hands breed better blasphemy upon the canvased face to lurk along side the hideous slaves


hiding ever what is within bashful and every more shy than forgiven when the apple fell the


hands were full of apple seeds when the apple seeds were planted more apple trees yet ever


was the soul in morning ever rising sun forever masking what this ever prevalent longing was


and finding then truth to be without remorse without faith without the taste bitten apple skin


bleeds unto colour dropping wet soaked in dripping sweat and not ever caring about exactly


who it is whoms hand they fall whom all fall in the abyssmal throng to circle round the circling


sphere through out all of these years these many years amounting to sand to non sense drift


down streaming land to a world of ice where a fire is translucent onward to find aires more


stars collide and burst more lies cover the face in dirt more leaves fill the forest scene and


ever banging the crown against the skull from keeping time on the hanging door the hinges


black and decadent each stone sets itself and cements in place smashing the grail against


the mirrored emptiness just to create sound that echos in the hall to remember thy place


here amongst the outcasted non existent to preeminently dominate the vanishing sand


as the desert becomes marbled intoxication of incense moving like emotions move how


a face expresses what it is to feel and when feeling was something felt yes then it felt real

Recent Posts

See All

The Hourglass

Point A Needle To The Sky, Centered Minds Point A Gun To My Head, Circumstantial Ends Point A : The Diamond Sutra, Centrifical Forces Yet There Are One Thousand Arms Tied Up In The Book Of The Dead An

T E L L M E

never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it

Kommentarer


bottom of page