daxi

The edgiest thing I've ever written. Worth the read for the formatting, however.

Prose-poetry. About humanity. Sex, gender.

It's a rejection of humanity. Sonhood.

Birthèdness. Geworfenheit.

from silk on the skin:

i long.i long. silken,i sink:

down into, __headlong.

______________reality, always,is

_____made in the mind. where_ is

from silk on the skin:

i long.i long. silken,i sink:

down into, __headlong.

____ outside is riven.here.

_____________________ outside

____________ is wrong.outhide

______ and dissappear.dissapate.

bleed.__________here is _stained of lack

___of sanguinity.

___it pains me,how kind_ you are.

foam on the waves of the wind

too close to seem blue.

28

i curse my seemings, that say

„this foam is a wave ; count them,

_and you'll know the sea.“

_one;one;one;one;one;one;無。

____what did the cloud in it say?

___________forlorn piece of gray—

_____do not mourn the darker sky

you are____where you always were

For Oliver.

Time is now my cruel mistress,

my poor master and fate;

Time 's a dread vintriliquist,

from whence there's no escape.

❦

Time's to Time as Void's to Space,

as 1 is as to 3,

Time's The Movement and The Grace,

The Falling and The Leaf.

❦

what is Time devoid of space?

a wave without a sea?

within,Time's but a lifeless face—

a corpse cannot conceive.

❦

Time's a vague and fickle thing,

whose speed does oscillate,

and that,my dearest Oliver,

The Saga of the Operatione Solis

, edition 2, is now finished.

The Saga of the Inductione Solis

, the sequal to the Saga of the Operatione Solis, is also finished. Lastly,

:PRO HWI:

, a poetry collection, is also finished.

The bird is frozen — in its stead: Those that have no tears to shed, bite back their sorrow for the dead. The bird before it pecks its tail, The bird whose alchemies did fail: Those who cannot color pale, Bite back their beak and precure nails, For the coffin, the dying, the dead. The bird before it warbles woe, The bird, its Requiem in tow: Those whose songs can smite no foe, bite back their tongue and watch their toe. For living, those living, and dead. The bird behind it flies away— The bird behind, Mid-flight does say: Those who's respects are all payed, have no excuse not to seize the day. For the mem'ries : the living of dead. The bird in my eyes, cold as snow, The bird whose years will never show: Those who have no tears to shed, Bite back their sorrow for the dead. Melancholic in passing, and via that vein: Requiem Aeternam—heu, paceque; Ave, Avis! May the frost melt away, & your body decay.

is finally complete. Bask in its glory.

Some poetry, Some visual art.