26 letters and some…

Abecedarian: The Qua of Qui

As of the who: in a liturgy of grained righteousness cleansed, folded & articulated —

Bestiary of birth canals and unguents squeezed from bodies now desiccated;

Concupiscent casuistry led me to my troubles

Delineated in these lines in the margins of thee Apocrypha.

Energumens here, and you come into a world of pain, possession, & black hole nothingness

Fecund you are, full of so many — what you are not is

God, and neither is the author — purveyor of distilled sin in pearl dust & gin

Humanity’s dark mirror of depredation

“Instant Karma is gonna get you…”

Jaundiced and juiced we know

Knowledge is nothing. We have proven as much. We are eyeless in

Lenticular madness refracted, and blinded, as those who would drink four ounces of white wine and horse dung

Macerated and made into a tincture for the masses to imbibe.

Neoteric quaffs that did not quench our thirst and we went thirsty, and in search

Of the man who described literature as a “tissue of citations” its contexts and referents unknowable, akin to a

Palimpsest of the putative self — a coin scratch off ticket past the attenuated ego(s) — to live in the Id everyday & at night I’ll place

Quincunxes on your eyes for a faster journey to nowhere.

Rampikes dot the road here, a jagged landscape without human trace, and the sky above is filled with

Starlings that twister about appearing as unhinged tornados marking the air with darkling ablutions —

Take thy clyster pipe and syringe and find a willing orifice proficient in state sponsored press releases —

Unction administered — and nailed up to the door jambs of a vacationing congess raising money for a defunct president.

Vacillate no more for we are refluxing on our American original sin

Wandering through the Death Museum where we whisper colloquies to lives well lived in a

Xeriscaped land of ochres and sand browns — a land so prickly that we found nothing but portents, penitants, and penury

Yoked to a future as arid and bleak as our past. A new

Zoonotic apocalypse is the only viable option as we ease into these closing minutes… or we’ll burn it all down ourselves.

“… there is nothing ordinary about humanity and good sense. As we see now on both sides of the Atlantic, both traits are quite extraordinary, especially when they confront the entwined threats of biological and ideological plague.”
— Robert Zaretsky

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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