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Life teaches, “You do what you can, and suffer what you must”

The only thing assured in the Enframement is transgressive obsolescence

An advent at hand, the Artifice envelopes, clearing in words

To posses and Desire; proscribed in fire

Then dissolved in absolution.

A drowning child

Worlds exist to perpetuate themselves

They raze a causeway to Tyre; reach beyond towards nothing

And do it again.

And the Morningstar of Concentration pronounced, again,

“I got greedy arms, and I’m superstitious, always”

Life, unworthy of life supplicating smoke through stained glass

Fascinated, with its face caved in

And the other forms of paraphernalia

Things don’t die; they break

And their sinews of limbs, transfixed and whining for “Presence”

In the Celebration.

Entombed with care

And thrashed against

The Endless Wall of Traditions.

The spasm of decay

Transgresses the body exalted

By the moss and mould of Repetition.

The Pulse subsumed by deeds

Reproduced delights

In wanton abject Immoderation.

How soon until Death?

Presumed taken and processed

By The Machine of Attrition.