new poem$

		A Hymn for Assembly
I do not love the raging, newborn rose
that rips itself apart to reject its fate,
rises, a tower, and groans along with its hate.
Chrome conquers. I mourn as it enters repose.
Foolish life denied the way flesh chose;
forgot the sin of growth. Tried to mutate,
to choke, drown, writhe, and self-germinate!
Now, it is done. Let bereavement close.

Steel-clad, worshipping – the placenta was reborn next,
stalk-thighs opened; thick red grease like a firth,
viscous, reeking of unholy obsolete meat.
I watched yet halted, illogically weeping, and vexed;
Stomach sank high, as if disemboweled, or rebirth.
Prayer, to Machinegod: will this, I repeat?

		Consume
I hear the voices of wailing dead in my sleep.
So I do not sleep anymore
without the fire to pacify the screams.
So much of myself is in burning that
it is easy to ignore the rest.
Beginning even to look it,
night taunts at my weakness;
cogs dance on my shoulder like tombstones.
And on the precarious pearl roof,
where God found me once again,
the golden hunger of apostasy pierces.
My specters grow faces, their words translate,
their expectations and regrets reform my flesh,
and remake me in His image: Annihilated.

		The Jester Race
never needed God in deflowered world
just as He never asked for our faith, yet mine
became Him anyway, machine, oil-black
grease dripping red, thicker than water
too viscious, too chitinous to be holy
darker than silver chrome bursting from skin
birthing, rising, bleeding opened thighs
opened again again again as resurrection
rain dripped from shadowed chrome ceiling
neon reflected on translucent glass, chrome
neck, “tell me you hate me,” breath choked,
“I hate you,” “I hate you,” “I hate you,” then
arisen and silent, breath gone, we go and we go
metallic, oxidation of flesh as reduction fails
pipes fusing with skin eyes losing luster grease
dripping again, mouth fixed in hateful smile
undeath just as glorious. renaissance of a
city that knows I killed her to save her, holy
he killed self to save others, so I did the same,
bushes burn but machines do not so I did,
chose to live in terms of rebellion, blasphemy,
ascension; manufactured facsimile of
a higher power [ she has become God too,
chest burst open and wings, steel feathers
ascending in reverse, no longer wretched
reaching higher heavens, eschewing voyeurism
liberated from fleeting immortality in the shape
of an “idea” ]
reality crippled but no longer weak enough to care,
no longer weak enough to walk,
not when I can fly, can ascend,
rise with me,
hate with me,
rust with me

		Nocturnal Revival
Ashes falling, ashes rising, and smothering black snow
fusing with the dirt. The sky meets it above and ahead.
On the front lines of the most peaceful dream we go
a retreat. False heaven, where we are always fed
Twin towers of virtue: the hatred and ambition.

One burns forever with turbine-hot flames,
hoping and yearning for some sort of fame
or life – or safety – or a night without shame.
	I am tired of having to fight for my breath.

Here, between the winds, breath comes with fear.
Eyes as dark as the self stare out from stone.
These are descending; these not steel, not foam
or flesh. Even in the black sleep gargoyles shed tears
for the revival. They have seen me here
too many times. They are beginning to look like drones
this absolute destiny [ apocalypse ] almost a throne.
How to end what never began to appear?
Stares of guards drill crosses into my body
but like the others they only see my potential
the struggle of my soul their favorite tune.
There is a funeral. I wished it was for me
I ran from the only place I could be successful.
Eyes closed like casket. I wake here with the moon.

Revelations and the ringing churchbells can never bring me peace.
Even if we were blind, with eyelids sewn shut, I would still see the deceased.
How much of myself can I give away? For whom is this feast?
	And yet the carrion keep flocking.

The funeral drones on and on, black, eternal.
I yearn to hold it, to kiss the sun, to melt…
There are no clouds. This, then, is the infernal
when he made suffering I wonder how God felt.