an agaw of undıvıduals

dear gods of god and god of gods 

what the hell are you saying

my cat stares out the window  it stares without laoing waiting for the end of the world  looking at the lake as if it were some calm frequency of food

the laity and the laoity

realitys just numerology

and science another word for prayer

liturgies of a smirked occult

ıve represented the resonance spoken of by the godmothers of the old paths

weve opened the crypt of vision and swallowed the grief of the dead

theyve meddled with the wheels of measurement and soiled the orgies of the undefined

youve unleashed the astral planes that crash into the mountains of dream

shell etch messages of oracles of shadows by fouled streams to no avail

hed outlined the door in the floor of the stage of mirages before the nine kings

its scavenging through the fallen city for signs of repositories of disequilibria of memory 

who has cluttered the book to hide readings that forbid utterance in the functions of the earth?

and who shall walk unheeded past the broken frame of time?

where are the dıce? ı need to abolish chance

not only are you not your own contemporary but youre no one elses either

pray quickly to the spirits of the trees before their ears refuse your words

you sound like a glottophagic porcupine addicted to an ovicide neither warranted nor auxilary

our common numina hints at insults so tangential who could feel anything but something akin to a gaze lıngering briefly on a flavescent vıntage subsequent to a trauma only felt in the white tunnel of death

youve syphilis of the soul  youve given yourself an std through excessive autoesocopulation

interpolators of dark beseechings and usurpers of futile noocracies

niknud snutod sticks its niqqud naked

its niqquds not a kin  a kinda cuz

consobrinal kissing cant be counted

in sticks & cracks that niknud knackly does

dont get flippant on us  it only serves to unwınd that returning that seeks a frameless unhıngement on ways lıt by uncanny contabescences

time to go back

but we like it in the long corridors  they flash absence as if meaning werent a blind orientation toward suspicions that tribes are formed of similar nightmares and nationhood like the presumed innuendos of an entitled child

ill get you your rıce and garlıc and pour your bath

of feet and eyes we of the nomads in dreamspace move  time ticks we hear but nothing of the news  the less of time might more be less of who  and more the why of dream and how we move      my sleeps are everywhere

your bed will be waıting like a sıeve to drain you into lıquıd fragmentations

cures disorient more than our conditions  empty potions in impetuous silences

look   the fractı anımıs of nıghts insıde us and the securityguard lets us pass like nıggets

the altar of screams is patıent and twılıght aborts our lonely affectıon in the unanswered hours

let us pray