An End/Morphine
Prologue
The night...I breathe out.
The night is not young,
I gasp,
yet I am not old—
While gone, the silence rings around us,
in terrible beauty while the moon
flash-laughs,
I catch a breath
and hold it like I would you–
[untranslatable, my pain]
[--but imagine, my last one,
my only,
what if—
all that’s left to me, you—
moon howl, break
but I pass silently
from the night
what if it were sight,
and what if you were life,
would you then refuse me,
would I then turn away.
A red room,
ringed in breathing contracting
soaked death-fibers
but life-spark inside,
Is that you I see?
I cannot recognize…your face, anymore…
It is as I feared.]
Ages pass, seasons—fall,
I break,
The moon watches in shock
and turns its face,
No, a golden reality,
where you click your death instruments closer—
"It's the morphine, idiot!" my sight screams,
blatantly.
Craters oblivious, pale murderers,
Poppy red sunbeams in a kaleidescope world.
I am ignoring you, my sight.
watching my sickle
plague the leaping heart's blood.
Flash, red, then gone.
The grass is yet young,
But the flowers must die.
Morphine. Dear sir,
we come
to
meet again.
Death has a smell, you know,
and fear a feeling,
I see a color instead, brown
old photograph,
beside broken
bleached-hair-shade china,
red promise eggshells,
all gone,
but within reach.
Do you hear me? Do you—
Pale and withered, they fling
their own jeweled bodies
under the cobblestones
that split to let
the damp waxing moonlight through
at the apex of the night.
Snow branch flax honey is the sun.
The sun, I cannot remember—
Get out, who are you,
I never knew you since 1801,
what are these boxes doing in my room
and this sliver of a knife beside
bags of fluid–?
My tears
surprise me,
they jump and glitter
though I see no light
and the dark, it presses upon me
like fate, inexcapable,
so pulling...
I've been here before,
the inbred trees are nail-file thin.
Familiar,
tinged with soundless--
something,
in my mind.
I've been here!
A clear thought.
"Déjà vu", smirks
the morphine man
with dagger eyes.
The stars are but orbs,
As her eyes are not young.
They glow--
white lightning lithium tangent,
violet storm's entrails.
when the moon is gone
and scattered moon rays
paint my path
a deadly white--
Moths, leeched jealously
by the sun,
seem my hands.
Everything a scale of breath,
though
it is beyond my reckoning...
everything so simple,
small pin-flowers
unfold
all because I forget to breathe.
Is it yet day?
Or is it night,
It is dark,
someone painted
the moon away
and stabbed the remnants
into my eyes.
Pain, the stars,
random moonfire,
Untranslatable,
And I hang on the edge of darkness,
A dull blade
that will swing to kill,
whether a yes or a no.
Choose, say, it says,
or I will for you.
Phosphorus mocks
my eyes, slowly,
flickers out,
a life--spent...
Eyes, useless--
Lament
When will we turn upon the world,
or will it cut us down before our time? the ancient
trees say no, but I knew
nothing grew between their temple-moss branches.
It is a dead world already, all is lost.
Flash, flash, gone,
a harvest with the moonlight.
We are tied by bleached bone-thread.
I cannot escape...
I cannot.
Looking Back
When, M-m-a, he gurgles, and warms my heart
like a little fire flame,
am I so dusty to be a hearth?
Where are the old trees of my childhood,
the world is a stranger,
Athar, Is that you,
I cannot see,
faint blackness steals from me but traces
your shape in sweetness
I miss my moon baby sun longing child
but you never belonged to me,
you never belonged to me,
she whispered, lamp eyes
before kill.
--
Phosphorus mocks
my eyes, slowly,
flickers out,
a life--spent...
Sight's Prisoner, and fate's cage
with golden threads,
that mask the calling they burn
and brand roiling into my heart
needle's plunge.
Phosphorus was made into bombs...
deadly killing machines with
starfire's
terrible fury,
"do they mock me so?"
divine fire-lance
lets unborn
black door swing...open....
...shut....
Death gates...I cannot choose...I cannot...
Before I die,
a madman sings his sing-song,
madame please
paint a path for me in the stars
with your eyes
and clutch my last breath to your heart,
my last possession.
Everything I own, a memory. Everything,
unto dust,
but my eyes,
they fail me,
shifting heat wave patterns
redly undulating,
masking the sockets.
My grip, too strong
I break your bird-hand,
Let it be peace. but it
is as I feared
…and on, the stars dribble into
shared silence…
When will we photograph the world?
Or will the camera’s flash
destroy all life?
A silver fish-leaping joy heart-jumping
ray of light
magnified times a thousand,
then everything gone,
stolen from me.
Why, how? Why should I refuse?
The shadows may lengthen.
but they convince me of your strength,
straight up grow the pale vines
ringing moon dust
Mars dust
red temple pillar memories.
I feel like a grave already.
Empty, hollow, light
like a child upon the water
You pull it in your wake,
you eclipse the sun,
everything sparkles…
random dust floats off
but me, my eyes—gone—I can see
briefly a slice
into your heart.
End.
The night...I breathe out.
The night is not young,
I gasp,
yet I am not old—
While gone, the silence rings around us,
in terrible beauty while the moon
flash-laughs,
I catch a breath
and hold it like I would you–
[untranslatable, my pain]
[--but imagine, my last one,
my only,
what if—
all that’s left to me, you—
moon howl, break
but I pass silently
from the night
what if it were sight,
and what if you were life,
would you then refuse me,
would I then turn away.
A red room,
ringed in breathing contracting
soaked death-fibers
but life-spark inside,
Is that you I see?
I cannot recognize…your face, anymore…
It is as I feared.]
Ages pass, seasons—fall,
I break,
The moon watches in shock
and turns its face,
No, a golden reality,
where you click your death instruments closer—
"It's the morphine, idiot!" my sight screams,
blatantly.
Craters oblivious, pale murderers,
Poppy red sunbeams in a kaleidescope world.
I am ignoring you, my sight.
watching my sickle
plague the leaping heart's blood.
Flash, red, then gone.
The grass is yet young,
But the flowers must die.
Morphine. Dear sir,
we come
to
meet again.
Death has a smell, you know,
and fear a feeling,
I see a color instead, brown
old photograph,
beside broken
bleached-hair-shade china,
red promise eggshells,
all gone,
but within reach.
Do you hear me? Do you—
Pale and withered, they fling
their own jeweled bodies
under the cobblestones
that split to let
the damp waxing moonlight through
at the apex of the night.
Snow branch flax honey is the sun.
The sun, I cannot remember—
Get out, who are you,
I never knew you since 1801,
what are these boxes doing in my room
and this sliver of a knife beside
bags of fluid–?
My tears
surprise me,
they jump and glitter
though I see no light
and the dark, it presses upon me
like fate, inexcapable,
so pulling...
I've been here before,
the inbred trees are nail-file thin.
Familiar,
tinged with soundless--
something,
in my mind.
I've been here!
A clear thought.
"Déjà vu", smirks
the morphine man
with dagger eyes.
The stars are but orbs,
As her eyes are not young.
They glow--
white lightning lithium tangent,
violet storm's entrails.
when the moon is gone
and scattered moon rays
paint my path
a deadly white--
Moths, leeched jealously
by the sun,
seem my hands.
Everything a scale of breath,
though
it is beyond my reckoning...
everything so simple,
small pin-flowers
unfold
all because I forget to breathe.
Is it yet day?
Or is it night,
It is dark,
someone painted
the moon away
and stabbed the remnants
into my eyes.
Pain, the stars,
random moonfire,
Untranslatable,
And I hang on the edge of darkness,
A dull blade
that will swing to kill,
whether a yes or a no.
Choose, say, it says,
or I will for you.
Phosphorus mocks
my eyes, slowly,
flickers out,
a life--spent...
Eyes, useless--
Lament
When will we turn upon the world,
or will it cut us down before our time? the ancient
trees say no, but I knew
nothing grew between their temple-moss branches.
It is a dead world already, all is lost.
Flash, flash, gone,
a harvest with the moonlight.
We are tied by bleached bone-thread.
I cannot escape...
I cannot.
Looking Back
When, M-m-a, he gurgles, and warms my heart
like a little fire flame,
am I so dusty to be a hearth?
Where are the old trees of my childhood,
the world is a stranger,
Athar, Is that you,
I cannot see,
faint blackness steals from me but traces
your shape in sweetness
I miss my moon baby sun longing child
but you never belonged to me,
you never belonged to me,
she whispered, lamp eyes
before kill.
--
Phosphorus mocks
my eyes, slowly,
flickers out,
a life--spent...
Sight's Prisoner, and fate's cage
with golden threads,
that mask the calling they burn
and brand roiling into my heart
needle's plunge.
Phosphorus was made into bombs...
deadly killing machines with
starfire's
terrible fury,
"do they mock me so?"
divine fire-lance
lets unborn
black door swing...open....
...shut....
Death gates...I cannot choose...I cannot...
Before I die,
a madman sings his sing-song,
madame please
paint a path for me in the stars
with your eyes
and clutch my last breath to your heart,
my last possession.
Everything I own, a memory. Everything,
unto dust,
but my eyes,
they fail me,
shifting heat wave patterns
redly undulating,
masking the sockets.
My grip, too strong
I break your bird-hand,
Let it be peace. but it
is as I feared
…and on, the stars dribble into
shared silence…
When will we photograph the world?
Or will the camera’s flash
destroy all life?
A silver fish-leaping joy heart-jumping
ray of light
magnified times a thousand,
then everything gone,
stolen from me.
Why, how? Why should I refuse?
The shadows may lengthen.
but they convince me of your strength,
straight up grow the pale vines
ringing moon dust
Mars dust
red temple pillar memories.
I feel like a grave already.
Empty, hollow, light
like a child upon the water
You pull it in your wake,
you eclipse the sun,
everything sparkles…
random dust floats off
but me, my eyes—gone—I can see
briefly a slice
into your heart.
End.