Burnished gold is coming closer,
Russet leaves on crimson blood.
Watch distortion in the mirror,
Watch the calm before the--
matter of midnight, is that it? For
black ink on tiles
pooled, spattered, looped in
patterns beyond your minds, and Paradise
Awaits;
She lies behind my eyes, though they are gone.
I Am
more sane than you, Brother Puppet, more sane,
sors immanis et inanis
and we are the matter of midnight.
You forced reunion with our madness, Brother.
It is-
upon us--