The rotund sun slyly coveted
His diadem of light and warmth
Yonder the gnawing jagged teeth
Of these greedy mountain passes
And the days stretched without
The fire ball hung above the clouds
Of ignorance, innocence, malignance
So I squandered my gambling and
Gave up haggling with the King
I knelt before the oblivious sky
Scraping my bloodless knees
In the hoarse and mordant skin
Of the thinning ice beneath
Pleading for my immolation
So I can transcend in liberation
To the land of the phantoms
The oppression to be caught
In a reedy ensnare of vagary
Underneath jealousy and abhorrence
A labyrinth of flustered identity
Is a death far more excruciating
From the carnal conflagration
It is a shackle of lightning impaling
And lashing to the frozen core
A death that will live on, bleed on
In the echoes of this immolation
‘Who am I to you, lovely people?
I cannot see myself in those big
And once sincere doe-eyes.
I was yours, not just an accessory
Of what you can encompass
From each other’s covenant.
But the tides washed away
My footprints on your shores
Because you walked on them
For they were your chalcedony,
And your tides, and your ebbs,
Your sea, your coveted jealousy.
Your waters heaved me too close
Then shoved me too far away
With your clashing demands
And a whirlpool of obfuscation.
It took its toll in my harried eyes
Because I am not a saint nor a god
I am just a comrade, and a misbegotten
Catalyst of a storm that shall fan
And hone your arduous appetite
For each other’s somber ties.
Who am I to you ululates a cry
Submerged beneath the zealous
And ardent hunger you have,
Such subliminal lust to become
The mighty flame of the sun—
Between the two of you:
The brawl is to undo
What you have become
From dragging me too.
Good riddance, to you
My riddled affinities.
So long, and may you find
Your separate peaces.’
I chide to the bony clouds to falter
And thaw into a bottomless river
And I shall walk the void bottom
Of this bottomless ocean vapidly,
I plead for the vestiges of the night
To mantle a pall on my shoulders
And I shall carry her into the impasse
And there I shall limbo with the dead
And wistfully peel off the mordant skin
Of your haunting memories: doe eyes
And porcelain skins, lips quavering
Of malaises, pains, and of the dead
Incisiveness of trust and honesty
Of far-flung amities, now they seal
Themselves with stitches to latch
The demons of loathing and treachery
And the blood lust for this immolation.
