Aequus and Libra

And so another trembling figure shall find recognition, somewhere between the desired, and that which really was. Such a tedious story. A story which I had once embarked on writing, but stopped as soon as I remembered: words signify finitude, and my egocentrism demands immortality. Aequus and Libra - the inseparable. They, whose sight can penetrate solidity, shall endorse the charms of liminal satisfaction and resume their lips on the periphery of intoxication. The labyrinth " more pleasant than the string which murders its magic, more enchanting than the beast which haunts arrogance within it. My lungs greet the last toke of regret, as I become that which was never wished for. Trust is the virtue of the foolish, and my life’s silhouette is composed of momentary breaches of the fundamental rule. They read slower than I feel, and so they will always ask those questions which blunt my passion. Why should that surprise me? They are, after all, the children of the inseparable, and as such they roam the world of the living, unable to scent the corpses in their living rooms, their kitchens, their love beds. I stand in a garden where the flowers feed on fluoxetine and germinate inwardly, maniacally trying to reach the centre of the earth. And as I stand there, surrounded by flora’s aborted dreams, I try to recall who was it that said that emotions must not be left in solitude, to rot behind bars of embarrassment; that the words which my lover’s eyes beg me to utter must be spoken; that a shy, gentle touch, coordinated by the swallows that seize my hairy hand every time I see you, can indeed be more majestic than any dick, rudely invading your warm beauty. Who was it really that, kneeling over the toilet, with a forehead colder than the ocean, deified their own guillotine? No wordplay can compete with the sobering simplicity of an answer which, uninvited, interrupts the most charming of deliria: he who would never tolerate a black hood concealing the happiness that his own beheading would have caused. A middle-class insanity, a couple of red horizons on a white tissue, a disembedded self baptised in the piss of Thanatos. The Übermensch never was, and never will be, even though he was wished for. And if he ever came to be, I would happily stand over his bed, and force two fingers down his throat, and make him choke on his own fears " for he really possessed those, even though you had wished otherwise. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing write. More prose than poetry.
"No wordplay can compete with the sobering simplicity of an answer which, uninvited, interrupts the most charming of deliria: he who would never tolerate a black hood concealing the happiness that his own beheading would have caused. A middle-class insanity, a couple of red horizons on a white tissue, a disembedded self baptised in the piss of Thanatos. "
Many statement stood out in the poetry. I would recommend breaking up the paragraphs. Above lines were my favorites. A well-written poem. Left me with visions and thoughts.Myth and story is my favorite.
Coyote