Antipater

These cruciate channels, avenge:

when I cry out for your soul,

out for everything.

Figures and their heads crack and fall:

old porcelain, dry like the static universes;

oarsmen, stripping away the crested undertow;

stria, exeunt the once-flowing seaways.

I shall always languish in this abject core

crystal sojourn like spice spoilt–

it loves me a victim, anyway,

for I am kind enough to extend it

spill the ether and give in its lapses;

it binds me its patron in return;

sens interdit, pining away

echoes that have but one blighting song:

what isn't yet lost

merely lost control.

Yet you choose it, laying your head here, in the angel's lap–

utterly – no, mindedly, possessed,

heretic, benevolent for the prophets of dust:

no one will question when I pierce my stakes through God's heart

and stake the claim to my special eternity

None challenge the thralls they cannot see

only the ones they have borne for years:

close your eyes, lest you forget

ignorant shores where children knew cages,

chains tilled the lands,

furrows bleed their broken hands

dreaming engorged the rot:

old faiths burnt in a sleepless sun.

This, the very thievery, can you hear its clanking?

the tongue of Heaven speaks the language of machinery,

his verbiage made of the honest man's spine:

sanctified, maddening, this blanched sequent vacancy!

Curdle now, as the abstract of darkness begins to warm you,

pierces your harem heart,

caresses the indolent temper to antipathy–

behold its gift, how you have the haven in your upstroke!

for the arcana watched you eagerly,

from blessed amaranth conception

to this sacred gridiron augury–

Assemble, recalcitrant child!

inamorata, bear my name;

crusade the new ephemera;

bear the crest you avenge your Father–

There, where the kings are elevated only when

they feast on the dandelion roots

from beneath terrarium fineries,

malecontreux

Hearken! the petard, the masthead

subdivide the regencies

bury the queen in lace calumny

catch the empyrean in circular duel

sing my solo melodies in variation turns.

pointing to the demarcations, absolve:

cordibus nostris, aegroti,

crest against the deserted seabeds!

Child, heiress of ethos!

give me your hand and I'll hoist you from the river

the currents that tug you toward noumenon worlds:

and from your caverns I'll carve the rarest hopes!

Carry your standard where the needles never fall:

la folie raisonnante,

where reason's song sounds

much like madness.