Siren

The one siren beckoning out,

Out in the flesh yet,

You choose not,

To be seen not,

To be desired and,

To scream without voice,

To exist only in false light.

 

Speak to a thousand sons without,

Uttering a single word.

 

An endless silk screen of,

Dripping words and,

Twinkling pixels of,

Smiling airs of,

Outward majesty and,

A world lay out beneath eager tips running,

Across from the sea of,

Bleeding hearts that,

Hide behind a silk screen.

 

Irony’s foul calling on,

The army of electric souls.

 

Skin up,

Skin down,

It’s all the same.

Round and round,

Till the twinkle stops as,

Screens fall cold as,

Eyeballs pound to,

The stinging of,

The glare of fluorescents

And faces slump.

 

Time exposed to,

Consequence sold to,

A God’s knotted code that,

Weaves us close whilst,

Leads us to dissent whilst,

Drawing us near whilst,

Thrusting us absent.

 

The false intimacy of,

The lying friend with,

No form of mind with,

The end that is

A doom comprised of,

The constant mocking of,

The smiling faces of,

The letters and pixels of,

The endless screen,

 

That tells you truth that,

You have no friend but,

The one siren beckoning out,

Out in the flesh.