the beast used to unleash {immanentize the eschaton}

the beast used to unleash

{immanentize the eschaton}


as an ill-powered god

I fashion a monster in my mind

paradox of quiet rage

he is all bloodshowered

yet somehow far from odd

every child’s most honest sense of justice

is a master assassin

and I mold him

untouchably violent

like a windshear built on

the sharpest blades in a multitude

cutting down the souls indecent

I build this behemoth

of strut and attitude

glare within scowl

because I want you to cower

for he invades nothing

a synesthete of death’s sensation

an aesthete of the path to get there

his afflicted temper pervades the ether

and I know,

he leaves no victims in his wake

but only the converted

with a bullet to the brain,

proselytized while perverted,

because he truly believes

with a romantic soul’s potency,

that if Death Is The Road To Awe

his commitment would dwarf

The Big Bang

in a single saw of his blade

like the decrepit tales

of cautionary trade

he is a beast used

to unleash

to immanentize the eschaton

undo the relay, the double helix

no longer gets passed on

the sound of his metered breath

the hidden master rhythm

of a raga played upon

the strings of the God Vine

drunk on the blood

of humanity’s entirety

swallowed in gulps

far more slaked than communion wine

his fantasies become mine

convinced, in a hallucination of concord,

that I had switch-programmed my mind

all that had been done left, now right

affordance to be so deft

hiding in plain sight

so no one would know

I was the master assassin

still standing in the room.

I trained him,

to live in the line and the liminal

of treating trading life out

like a spiritual quest,

while simultaneously knowing

that if nothing truly has meaning

there are no ethics, the story lacks moral

he is an automatic failure

of any empathy test

though his fibrous flesh and scar

were born of the sweetest heart

the only feeling left,

he can contribute

is that surrendered terror

knowing it’s never trivial when you die

looking at the absence

of convivial in his eye

as he undoes your definition

burning away the reference of humanity

within the solar flare pupil

of his all-too-real sanity


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