While we toil upon this paltry stage
and the compline bell subsides
Deontological actions fade
I'm prepared for nothing
And I whisper to the sky
with the air cleaved from my lung
I collapse upon hand and knee
and I watch these desert sands
fuse to glass so tight
Lay the groundwork for belief
Be it aletheia
or deceit
Reconcilement lays in wait
from its heavy water womb
Dreaming of fat and bone
I watch the
left hand cast a shadow
The right ignites the spark
Interned equations
reduce themselves into fire
No denouement plain
Give me something to believe
Anamnesis refined into waste
Sadly the context
contrives recreant deray
You're not the only one who
has ever felt this way
The cold, objective rooms
occult cicatrices
Through contract language pomp
we consign epicy
So I thank you for
the things you've shown to me
Be it the codicil
or this terminated lease