apollyon and the battle arch


dearest wretch, stagger and stir
the length of oblivion’s reach
along the beaten path
in the way of
fate’s despondent ivory towers
	the broken son of god’s destroyer,
	archangel to the bottomless pit of
forgiveness, you grasp in your hands
the cold flesh of
a vermin adorned
with the love of saints

a sewer child knighted by sinners
stolen from silence, the powderkeg clone
drones in your static omnipresence
your pseudo-convalescence

dearest rogue, wander and whir
in pools of stagnant feeling
around the smallest niche
between
tranquillity and misery
you falter thrice in making
so many indecisions, stumbling o’er
forgiveness, you cradle in your arms
the plastic doll of
a shaman’s unborn
wizardry, to wring it of wrath
and make its flesh
stretch the length of oblivion’s reach




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