Future Deleted Experiment of the Present # 22

“Mysteries At The Edge Of The Ambient”

cast down for nine silver coins and the taste of copper that lingers in the last shaking pocket of Your hell

that carried me like rocking oars fat and bleak and tired tied in broken steel hammocks intent to atrophy and emaciate

left like forgotten chain and wild by lost memory and unforgiving heaven

traced in red clay and traveled, an eyeless and earless and tongueless boatman that pressed with your disdain, hated by all the sinless angels who’s blue feathered wings know thee least against my drenched hornless brow

my only love and who loved me!

strange and sweet smells in riddles upon an ashen wind blown west relentless from campfire heat and the kindling and the flames and the pressure of glass

You! constructed in an image of mother and father and their one true son a lie

all our enemies’ dead gods and the wilting flowers, the damned and boiling silver pots of beautiful! weeds

all bashful and flexing and tattered shadows held breathless against worshipped breasts and the tenth coin the boatman charged to cross the gray waters of mirrors and stars-

while beasts who seek promise in me, follow from the banks

mad waves with such hues that contrast red as sleeping heaven without wet clay eyes or solemn ears and glass brimming with riddles piled upon an angel’s ashen tongue filling my pocket with our good sweet name on and on

unto Fire, my god!

with a bit of copper and the boatman’s knowing smile