[Suzerain of Sheol]

Turmoil in Heaven

This morning is not mine
and I wish to weep
but the world has run dry
I need your sulfur kisses
the silent quakes
that glass voice
your searing caress against tender presumptions

I have only this mirror
and a dead muse at my feet
silence for my inspiration
heeding insincere words
inhaling abused breath
manufacturing a mind
rendering art from carrion dreams

The window remains
splitting the world into selves
and I look out to the parting clouds
there are God's tears in the rain
deaf to the question of sparing the earth
abrupt to addressing the inequity
avoiding the subject of salience

I lie broken on my bed
oblivious to shards
infatuated with the moment
this inheritance I do not own
my place of emptiness
semantics surrendered
obliging the whisper with a waking return

There was something here
a thought that lived
but only I remain
my abandoned splendor
my life in remnants
my testament to the tender mercies
of the angel who is beating me to death