eros the bittersweet

one final burning | part three

iii.

no, it does not begin
with any crackling sound
like scarred scripts burning.
this flesh by flesh gobbling
up is initially one painless
smouldering, flames gutting
everything standing in their sweep
within the ring
of their annealing.
and then, the smell!
like something acrid, acid,
carbonaceous, quite nothing else.
and slowly, this strange oozing
smell swells, redounds into
spitting, splitting noises,
pain cracking up
in many pieces
in different places
all at once! still -


its life cinders on
until this ultimate imploding,
one deafening blast to the climax rite
as loved ones writhe, ashen
in their own consumed shells,
or perhaps, relieved at last
over this burning's end.
the skull tautens, breaks,
bursts forth into nothing, nil,
its ghosts given up...pure annihilation!
the cold remains of its spirit
ash-kohl in its final irrevocable
bleak dissembling, now, here in
this one kind of final burning.

0 comments:

 

anais nin

and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

t.s. eliot

i should have been a pair of ragged claws.

frida kahlo

i hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.