Diabolic grimace from angry vortices
in the waters,
I rise above the waves and the human figures
The crews’ eyes on me,
like they wish they too fly
to save their lives but I flap to rise and flee
from Death with force.
Above the clouds
I soar into the safety
by the sun’s skies,
the poor humans’ sight melts my heart with pity,
they lose their lives
as I look downwards, I could not help but leave
them to Doom’s jaws,
so I rise in flight facing the sun alive,
grand in its place.
Sipping wassail at the grave
of the Russian mystic,
lunacy crucified in his eye,
I knit a wreath for the vixen
suffocating next to the shaft,
gnawing the grid with her teeth
cracking joists, swallowing
sonnets. She rode the Lion’s gate
in a low-cut dress, separated
with her axe and tossed in the pyre
the heads of the five Mycenaean bulls.
Blindness tucks me into that bier
of ravaged marigolds, wounds
serenaded in shadows
and my body, reeking,
unlike one who never dies.
Lulled within the years
a bloodied sun rises in the west.
Through the assaults’ subtle gas
sprayed on the body of sentences,
I quench life of the impish people
to bring them down as wooden blocks
after reading my letters.
My sentences I order like soldiers.
ATTENTION, STAND AT EASE!
DO NOT SPEAK OR MOVE
UNTIL I TOLD YOU TO DO SO!
MARK TIME, FORWAAAARD MAAAARCH!
They are gunning down my victims
in dramaturgical strokes and pathos.
My sentences hit without warning.
Let eyes face the truth – I am a killer poet.
But, still, I say something.
NOW, STAND AT EASE!