Paragon
Cloudless, lidless, riven destination, Unaware of prosperity or time, Reeking of sands that sift upward.
Sun baked warlords shed tears – With buttons for eyes … orbiting, In spaces between, fissures of dust, Cleaners hid under piles of bones, Embattled unconscious, old lunatic, Fallen behind till the sun descends, Haze of shades, a harrowing display, Crawls toward the descending peak, Where ghosts are dappled in flame.
Dead before it begins – a sacred step, Fierce mirage, divorced from longing, On the edge of tides or corollary seas, Essences they took into themselves, Urges to shatter a conquering diadem.
EVERYTHING they see, water & glass, Ripples down to nether monstrosities, Who see them as well & also died, Singularly brought to life by Kosmos, Bathing planetary heads in hoary light, Engulfed in blanket deposits, sediment, Benign drifters becoming cancerous, Even in a golden flash, burning straw, Ashes of a powerful solvent, absorbent, Vial is a portent, observing & observed.
Artwork By Denis Forkas Kostromitin
