from this well of seers only curses abound
murmured between frantic dervish swirls
remedies steep in far tombs watched by serpents
priests herald the dawn dripping through with ire
a seven-fold wave arises on the ocean
like a plague of horses, ears pinned back
muscles taut and locked
creating the shadow of a god, a phantom, an apparition
plummeting in crests
the mescaline replaces images with sounds
sinking soft into a temple tree
shamans waft antique cedar and teak over a fire
gray pendants shake above the flames
death chants told across ointment pots
recorded on yellowed manuscripts
I lie confined in this blank space
my movements are met with scorn
a low screen is slowly illuminated
with scenes of lust and abandon
i strain my eyes to create blurs
so that everything goes unwatched and unremembered
I want to create a vacuum in this place
soundless. windless. voiceless. imageless. bliss
remote vanishment. complete lack. volatile echo's.
THE END is gathering its strength
a death march is announced
a phalanx of skulls in red amber and folded gold
hollow faces march with unremitting stares
crows fly in rabid formations eager for blood
the sightless spirits bury themselves in the sand until the battle is spent
the rain opens with violence above and bleeds
calculated drops fall like spears
pools of frailty wash the ground
between fingers of the dying and fingers of the dead
a deep fog holds a blanket above
the last groans are being diluted by the distance we retreat
out there in the mist, the vapors dissipate, for the last time
dispelling the slow beauty of sehnsucht
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