Monday, July 26

Darkling, dreadful psychopompos of the age
Precessions of axes and stellar rage.
Wherefore do you wander free, like a star?
I want to bring you back to me, back from afar,
Lording over the guestful table of my tale
Told over and over with the voice of the gale
That whispers loudly and shouts softly.
Paradoxes are mere maxims in this, my world.
Javelin-nebulae and semaphore whorls
Of gaseous clusters of fetal forms,
Starlight traveling after stardeath, worms
Of the mind, parasitic nightmare creatures.
My dream is a plague of light, treacherous,
Dire, hopeless and formless.

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