[Vesper X]
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Quomodo cecidisti, fili aurorae?
Lamentemur.
Are we but shades
cathartically shed on
a camera obscura of sorts
capsized, washed out,
indistinct and begrimed
here we must grovel
with dignity under a
still peephole.
Are we mere statues
clustered in our glasshouses
- a box with no confession -
to kneel under a bronze law ?
But the bronze law melts down here
as the smoking gun inhales.
There's only ourselves
and the deaf walls moving in on us;
only ourselves and our questions snapped at
only ourselves, sรฉcreted once they're secrรฉted.
We are our own time-bomb flowers
as we're cluttering
a hothouse in a blind spot,
a mass grave
that's manured with scandal
in no sun.