by Justin Teoh
alternative titles: blood meridian by cormac mccarthy, a spiral down asian hate crimes, an argument against singularity (with us in the middle).
If the almighty maketh man as the devil is present,
Then he too shares the white-washed image
He converses through blinding nature where only
The silent put their ears to the ground.
Hear, I gospel the constants of violence.
The sun drains the earth of its lifeblood
And collects the expanse from that altar stone
Out that arched crevice, the miasma
Of crows, of a billowing pile of yellow brown leather,
Coalesced from sweat and entrails and
The communal blood lay where their leathery feet
Trodden pink from talons and minced and fatty grease
Enough to broil all remaining virtue of innocence and
Dissipate in vapor soundless, absolved of all living
Memory, beneath the ancient laughter and the
Young fathers and young sons yet birth and come.
Because that creation seeped through
That commission of shared fortune
That false charisma of scripture sermon’d
That virtue is a two-edged sword
That exploitation from being the devil’s advocate
That adorning of artifacts runs in the family
That being harmless is misconstru’d
That fetishization of purity
That despair is a depthless mirage
That detachment of responsibility
That camouflage from multiple alibis or none
That the engine of his ruin blackens to soil
That sinners sin again
That revelations are a concept made remote
That a full life is to also witness death
That from whence they can
(Because that war is god and game neither heav’n nor hell but the liminal figure eight it occupies where the incarnates are bottomless childes at heart swing grinning aimlessly from hollow’d sockets bubbling with pneumonia from mocking)
Every unholy man once shared a love of nature
And silence is the second blade, holier than thou
To know and destroy everything in dissent
Pray tell, opportunist, what dost thou seek next?