The Drowning Machine
"The Drowning Machine"
Pulled from my mouth
a string of raw gold to build a tower
built from one understanding
a united ziggurat of words sucked
backwards played before broken mirrors
translated anti-clockwise slow speed all that babel
an alter laid down dry to feast on wet before Shinar
A ripe blood moon swallowed by the blind on swollen sullen tongues
Like split Pomegranate seeds, scattered all you gods and goddesses
you accept the bitter sweet irony of life like thin manna,
now fast dissolves a future fractured, the one that was never your dream,
in vain you try to somersault backwards to where you began, to begin again,
but the language you speak no longer translates, the poetry of love glib, passé
in your altered state you look for bullets and a gun to blow your brain
a mouth dry without words kisses a loaded barrel to take away the premature pain
you romance a black-holed sun, every forgotten birthday, missed Christmas carol, mother, father, daughter, son, and rapturously missed - each,
as years progressed,
the torrid embrace of fresh blooded smooth skinned lovers,
wrapped naked in a warm fecund Spring
Black reigns,
Ash of all that love lost, stolen and burnt, spirals dark spores like ink
blooms and spreads this mould in lungs, where a lost heart hovers
behind between, hidden, barely beating, barely breathing;
upwards in a vacuum escapes the faithless hope like air,
a fish out of water, you try to drink in
at full volume, of all that was and is,
this now disintegrates,
A new world precipitates
through what was promised, freedom and an open gate
Poles apart we shift continents
of consciousness and try to drown peacefully in
our flooded hearts floating stories
of dreams lost in a past dimension,
our Etemenanki, where clamouring loose egos
pass tongues for bricks thrown for greedy substitutes, sharp knives to cut
the ties that bind imposters from what’s yours, what’s real, what's mine;
and pumped up pimps bagging numbers strapped and bound their tricks,
lost in the ruins of forbidden fruit and knowledge, Tiamat and Marduk
each, your personal breakdowns, pure, at time of trigger event
and all the words we built, lost forever, in the drowning machine
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/IZfCj7tuZ-E
Thom Yorke, Not the News
“If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.”
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2019
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