the parsing of magic

Take the darkness away--- those words in eyes 
desperate for light to hit aching irises.
Terrified of degeneration into nightmare before scanning the span of dawn.
Seeking some reasoning for the chill up the spine .

the war parades continue. Only the armour and the caliber have changed
The fangs remain the same.


there's My PM who spent many long hours in the attic studying portraits of Napoleon,
practicing that look , combining sourness and innocense--- a young curmudgeon who only came down from the attic to sneak bites of his mother's fudge.

A moralistic perfectionist , sometimes called bitch behind his back, but he likes it like that,
all the better to boil you in the self righteousness held in by his skin.
Nastier than the gnats attracked to your sweat.
Protective of the glass in his jaw and chin.

His leadership proves that the aliens have prevailed ,
the too soft and creamy ones --- exposing their nervous systems at a certain angle so they can pick up the inter- galactic instructions
on how to devolve and love the alligator inside.


the 50's horror flick prophesies have come to pass
the human nuance bit off and spit at the gods deep-linked to emotions without a cause
except maybe holocaust for the hell of it as a way to get Jesus back here quick
And practice pride after renaming it; keeping it civilized and reeking with rationales.


meanwhile the chimes of other dimensions emitting light, coming thru canyons where whimsy changes into wind,
the parsing of magic , the start-up logic out of the box,
labours of love putting together the bricks to  be used after the flop of the apocolypse.