What Has to be Turned Around (and Will Be)

February 20, 2020

Stick-pins swirl the cosmos, egging billion slave-will deeds, on, on,

A fight-field chaos

Scores - beggar all metaphor - intend - inventions teeming

One axe replaces one axe, cutting down old axes

A bite, a bite defeases, bleeds a cut that rills

Cleaving an opportunity a gap to fill

Slice, hack that down; this may not be withholden

Carve through the nerve, divide ham from the bone

Come cluster, make attack; break out that snap

That hard-boiled delectating dream force might desires to get

Its unguent dark heart matter

Possession within possession, daemon fire that must rush forth

Declares the deed deliberated done

Asserts a patent mark on action hard; its parlous pressure

Worked up builds gaping holds, full signifiers, soiled

Remembrancers wrenched of hest, to stark hard object

Endorsing passion having had its remit's end,

Carved in as target name

Mad cast into a brook as headlong rock; dishevels

Time's wandering waters somewhat for a little day

Or cut down from the sky wide craters off the moon

With surge, whose purge goes upwards; must, to be bereaved

Else otherwise demise repines repressions.

Rapine, excess, importunes, kisses, makes an entry

Nor stop, nor halt be brooked; no curb, nor menace

Ten to the power of force forever figures for no bounds

Expectant goad its goals, impel the wishful will

Impel, impress, impose; the final rise possessing

The last fought conquered hill

Here's hectic flashing brands gone-throwing, streaking knife-like fire

Betrayal in our hearts departs all civil rumour

Conceit comes a coquette, clone-egos live in mausolea