schismatic

it was a triumph of tragedy

a new glistening peak in the mountains of suffering that have sprung out of the craggy exposed bits of his spine

those shards of calcification and ignoble regret

filled with fluid and the cabling necessary to control the puppet

bone spurs jutting

carving new issues

lamenting

laminating

broken by the weight of another defeat

denial

desensitized to the entire thing

her eyes were like factory made gems, faceted, beautiful, ultimately vapid and vacant, polished glass, ice that chills to the core

the unsteady seeming movements of a drunken master

or preying mantis

deadly and incomprehensible

zombies and zeppelins, the fourth reich of science fiction narrative

golden apple of dischordia, silver apple of iduin, forbidden fruit of eden

a catastrophe fruit salad

her voice like barb wire constricting around a heart, slivers of glass like daggers flowing through arteries, maiming and destroying

or honey sweet

both

same time

it was a tragedy of triumph

victory gnashed in the jaws of defeat

the machine churns on

ever on

steadily mulching all the decay into a bed for new life

irregardless of intent

light through a schismatic crystal

a rainbow of pain

the slow separation of individual flavors of sorrow

only visible in infrared

ultraviolet clouds of magnesium

exposed to pure oxygen

igniton

precision

at the core

an entire village

gone

burned out huts and krakatoa carved into the trunk of a tree

a mystery

she sang to me, off key but sounding like an angel to my half deafened ears, too many concerts, too many loud jobs, too much if everything, but her song was beauty in the key of her

and damn it

that was enough salvation for me

5 thoughts on “schismatic

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