Terrain

 

Sometimes it feels like

The manufacture of culture

Stone cold

Peeling ribbons of cloth on the winds of self

Festering maggots on the carrion of their dreams

Thundering hooves on the soil of my soul.

They have no idea what awaits them.

How simple it is—

How savage. and ruthless. and raw.

I didn’t come here to fuck around.

I didn’t come here to listen to your beta-boy story about who gives a shit—

You made it this far into the woods and now you have me.

In all of my filth.

In all of my ruthless glory,

With all of the human abuse  

Inflicted with open hands

In woken minds.

They eat my cum out of one another.

Tonguing at it like nymphs for ambrosia.

Devouring these fabricated ideas of humanity.  

In the thousand-yard stare

Where I have forgotten everything that once was

As they compete for a thing they cannot name

struggling against a thing they do not understand

unable to grasp the power of infliction.

...power of affliction

I have seen the terrain between these spaces

As the stars on a freezing night

Contorting flesh splashing through the river.

Fingers down throat, lordosis effect.

where our souls have been wrought of unspeakable anguish 

Where the talons of my mind

Rend everything in a way that seems beyond familiar.

What are they to me but refuse—

Disposable meat to be held

Marrow to be eaten

As if tasting the intoxicating nectar of some imperfect flower

That grows deep in the jungles of self.

Sometimes it feels like

Lightning touching down

Electric and visceral

As if I am surfacing upon other realms

As swarms of insects taking flight

 As if hearing two conversations running at once

Like two songs playing at the same time

As narrative and dialogue unfold together

To realize that they,

...they.

Look upon us like so many filthy children

Ragged and abused

Pliable and simple

As if pitiful deer left in the forest

Have you not seen their craft?

So utterly beyond comprehension, 

Beyond this

There is something else—

Esoteric in a way, but not impossible  

Like tendrils climbing the lattices of time

our many dimensions unravel

in a gracefulness beyond the limitations

of these human forms