this is death

how we translate holds meaning.

orienting around transition is an active interpretation

in the great convocation of devotion there is a cauldron of emotion

ever eclipsing the memory of our own being,

it is how we hold meaning that makes reality into a feeling,

the sense of our impermanence held in the suspense of silence,

there is such a violence in the senseless use of voice,

we still have a choice

to anoint ourselves with amber

and grave the image of our hearts

on the altar of calm waters

where the irascible soul

sounds out

the resonant vowels

of the eternal

into one single syllable

i am whole.

here now

we find the time for reverie,

not a mere memory escaping the dream

but an apocalyptic being at the center of everything

feeling itself as if nothing,

no knot of wanting

nor need to feed on the enmity within me

but the suffrage of it all poured out raw in awe of all we ever saw.

the gnawing guilt built by the brutal caregiver of it all is awful,

it is in his hubris vanity that the shroud of humanity shines brightly upon the backdrop of this

shadow let go.

i know the way home

and offer myself the holy sepluchre

to cure the quakes and aches of weary flesh that long for death

to excise the seven demons of the demagogue

as if they clog my arteries and arrest my ability to receive

and yet i still breathe,

there is a chillness in my still breath

as if death is upon all of us

and i concede,

acknowledging yes,

i answer this request to sacrifice myself

and in the moment of immolation

find freedom of salvation,

circle back now

and ground

upon the preponderance of soil in the earth,

how did it get here,

this dust turned to liquor that drives our cars so far,

where do we travel to,

to consume the tomb inside our own cavity,

the depravity of it all,

i’m done,

yet there is one left who knows

and in she i grow the appearance of a child

as if altered by the imagination itself

into the image of my own death,

decorum’s due her

and proxy will not serve

it is the self she requires

and so i sit awhile

and contemplate

the sinister center of my desire,

i smile and amble on,

the minute is upon us,

this is death.

how we translate holds meaning. orienting around transition is an active interpretation in the great convocationA formal meeting or ceremony, especially of a religious or academic nature of devotion there is a cauldron of emotion ever eclipsing the memory of our own being, it is how we hold meaning that makes reality into a feeling, the sense of our impermanence held in the suspense of silence, there is such a violence in the senseless use of voice, we still have a choice to anoint ourselves with amber and grave the image of our hearts on the altar of calm waters where the irascible soul sounds out the resonant vowels of the eternal into one single syllable i am whole. here now we find the time for reverie, not a mere memory escaping the dream but an apocalyptic being at the center of everything feeling itself as if nothing, no knot of wanting nor need to feed on the enmity within me but the suffrage of it all poured out raw in awe of all we ever saw. the gnawing guilt built by the brutal caregiver of it all is awful, it is in his hubris vanity that the shroud of humanity shines brightly upon the backdrop of this shadow let go. i know the way home and offer myself the holy sepulchreThe tomb where Jesus Christ was buried and resurrected according to Christian belief to cure the quakes and aches of weary flesh that long for death to excise the seven demonsThe seven demons that Jesus cast out of Mary Magdalene according to Christian tradition of the demagogueA political leader who appeals to popular desires and prejudices rather than rational argument as if they clog my arteries and arrest my ability to receive and yet i still breathe, there is a chillness in my still breath as if death is upon all of us and i concede, acknowledging yes, i answer this request to sacrifice myself and in the moment of immolationThe act of sacrificing or destroying something, often by fire; self-sacrifice find freedom of salvation, circle back now and ground upon the preponderance of soil in the earth, how did it get here, this dust turned to liquor that drives our cars so far, where do we travel to, to consume the tomb inside our own cavity, the depravity of it all, i'm done, yet there is one left who knows and in she i grow the appearance of a child as if altered by the imagination itself into the image of my own death, decorum's due her and proxy will not serve it is the self she requires and so i sit awhile and contemplate the sinister center of my desire, i smile and amble on, the minute is upon us, this is death.