The Interplay of Beauty in Darkness
The Interplay of Beauty in Darkness
I wrap myself in frozen-black, a back without boundaries-deepened,
my thoughts the viscous-tangled lianas in a forgotten earth,
an amnesia-desirer that loses all its forms in absence,
and autumn leaves spill their waves in consternating tumult.
The drunken wind weaves itself in vortices of ephemeral purple,
I rise weightless on wings of whiskey-butterfly sick,
my pain an ashtray where I pray to gods that don't exist yet,
the equinox has tilted oblique toward worlds in grave imbalance.
My body of wilted fog shows itself in shattered smoke mirror,
do I dream in the darkness stupor-sweetness or is reality the dream?
my clouds are false redemptions that bleed at dawn through cracks,
seraphim and serpents dance in the phantoms that disturb my abyss.
I keep silences like a sphinx of stone-speaking without voice,
my intuition is imperceptible laughter, through a jungle it flees smooth,
a widow-shackled in the curse of bitter-black drinks,
but the soul with bruised eyes blooms in the lock of torment.
Dawn scatters its stones of liquid-gold over the retina,
like nightmare-witches that rattle the empty bottles,
in semi-darkness my mirror writes prophecies with trembling fingers,
the pulse brings me closer to the altar of the sun with fatal flames.
I burn on the stone of sacrifice for my beloved of burned-moon,
in the chiaroscuro of existence where paradox is the only truth,
the darkened-beauty wraps me in petals of stellar melancholy,
and I turn into ash that dances on edges of non-being-hesitant.
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