Brass rings with echoes
showers heavy metal petals
its peals throw below
all notice of the chaos of
this village where none
atone for sins, where no one knows
the name of the rose
singing bowls sending out fragrant
delegations those
with hollow but hungry souls trust
will warm their vacant
ravenous caverns of gaping
mouths, filling them by
piercing their ears, a feast of coals
searing on their tongues
rusting to blush those unspoken
truths false modesty
brushes off and lies paint over
licks celebrating
without compromise what prudent
lips resist sp(l)itting
breaking their sacred seal not when
but only if, those
who hunger for wisdom’s gift stop
speaking and listen
banqueting instead on its haul
of whispers, burning
revelations, flagrant tapers
torching outmoded
tomes, f(l)avouring heads with knowledge
at once ancient and
ageless, a song ending this world’s
illusions not with
a bomb but a kiss, sick sounds and
visions a pox of
lips cures, melting like wax what ill
makes of existence
confusing mountains, its less-than-
thrilling challenges
insurmountable images
cleansed of their haze, dripped
from wounds into clouds of incense.
