a nothingness fills up with
somethingness,
which is an erratic randomness,
nevertheless, a somethingness.
and this something forms in the
distance.
at first, we cannot see it;
later, we cannot unsee it.
a silhouette behind the horizon,
a Lovecraftian, nightmarish contour.
summon it, perform its miracle,
invoke it, call upon it,
worship its numinosity,
make it your focus―or
just wait long enough―
and it shall reveal itself sincerely:
it is you! great and kingly megaloblatta[i],
duke of death, entropy’s
potentate
sitting there on your throne-clouds
of holocaust ice and vapor.
and death in the sky, i see you dread;
absorb your poison do i!
in weird sparks of philosophy
and in desultory flashes of spontaneous revelation
you can be seen in the above.
and i can see into your eye
clearer by each day.
flakes of wisdom scatter in the air
and pour down like drops of some sour
rain;
i fall on my back to the humid autumn
grass
and catch whatever i can thereof;
with my mouth and my lips and my
tongue!
but behind you follows
the
lesser ranks of your entourage,
where
roach-royalties fly with frail wings,
where scolopender-kings mutter and
stutter.
as do i, like them.
i can see their death as it
happens―like mine.
at the command of your steel-bearing appendage
the
prince of crown opiliones shall fall from grace;
it fell corrupt―and the world burned for it.
hurt by public outrage they become
in scandal after scandal after scandal.
driven are they
to an equally public suicide,
for you are mighty―and you oust life itself!
death outspans all.
choose your death.
the little insects all sold their
bug-souls for power,
and punished they will be, and
repentant they will be,
and crestfallen they shall become.
some will achieve redemption.
some will die seeking.
some will be urinated on, tortured, left for dead
and ravaged then by packs of wild necrophiles.
* * *
you are manifest and you are the path
forward,
indubitable, abominable, true.
and who can verily refute you―
save a God in
excellence,
or maybe a beast of the forest
with all its gullible
and primordial ineptitudes?
but, death on the earth―we feel your dread
and absorb your poison we shall!
reciters, scribes and votaries
of the great scorpion-barbed truth
blood-let themselves on their
ephemeral ravenstone
even before any executor
could go about their grisly work.
just like the bright moons’ reflection
flower and spellbind in the dark water
is death in blossom
in all of us.
holy death, the great and terrible;
Gods’ back garden.
i bend my knees for it.
i admire its avatars.
great beetle of the skies,
with your wings and eyes of death,
i ask into the void
with screams and shouts:
what pilgrim can reject the worship of
its final shrine
and what traveler can scoff at the
thought of his destination?
what emperor can reign with might
without death,
and what hero of the old world can
afford to tremble
in fear and in terrible
foreboding
at the sight of the Tiamat of meaning,
the glistening one, the one
auspicious in chaos,
the dragoness of eschatology
and existentialism?
and by this
invocation i shall resign.
i am weary and my feet hurts.
i take shelter
in the carcass
of a once great
Ornithoptera alexandrae[ii].
symbol of
beauty and majesty, now an ornament to death.
a gift it has
become, a sacrifice, a tribute. an offering
to the great
and terrible megaloblatta!
you send
your eight-legged auxiliaries to terrorize its human pet
with
hard-earned acumen, erudition in death,
and the
offering of solace in spiritual self-extermination!
your spiders bite their way into warm belly-buttons
therein laying their eggs:
very disgusting and traumatizing for us, but
very cozy and nice and warm for the spider.
the egg sac bursts, and
out seep them in lumps of fear
and crawl do them in hundreds, in
thousands.
and each one with something
acute, dire, urgent to say to us.
but all this wisdom
and all these truths
are lost to us,
because we just scream and scream and scream
and continue to scream
in absolute fear, disgust, terror.
death hides life and darkness hides light
but we are too scared to look there.
the spider-mother, irritated by this
rejection
and by this thankless human behavior
proceeds to command her babies
to sexually assault the human from inside,
and something on the other side of the world
dies in that very instant―because it could not handle
such a powerful feat of romance.
to romance something is to savor the
poison,
the vinegar of human life―death.
i see your beauty, and absorb your beauty do i.
death in the sky, i see you dread―
i would never refuse your poison.
for i love you.
