Time has no borders, sees everything,
ignores nothing, like a spider
in a web of books all volumes are from
the same library, memory

adds another story to the Tower
of Babel, fails in the same way
language did Cain explaining to god why
he did in his brother Abel,

cost him a fair trial, made it less than
impartial, relegated to
fable an infamy any other
exile by now would have fled from

the fugitive lips of prophets running
their wailing mouths into that rest
only the death of being forgotten
can give, yet this is what we get,

turning over in our crucible heads
a magma of unbearable
heat, seized by erotoleptic fevers
on which the hogs in our bellies

feast, swindling swineherds into believing
what we desire are the things we
need, seeks the demise not of us or our
lives, but to rob of the lamps of

our minds every fantasy behind
closed doors and with closed eyes we rub
into eruptions of such blinding light,
envious time in a fit of

jealousy arrives at the wrong moment
with its rusting scythe to rip one
night of pleasure into a thousand shards
of paradise it has no right

to covet, the caveat of buying
a myth is that it never lives
up to what its mystery promises
and history compromises,

inconveniences reality with
nuggets of alchemical gold,
bullshit sages marketed as wisdom
by which we transmute lies into

truth, yet even heroes know when to quit
lest volatile turn volcanic
and lust damages our blush with ashes
its touch of madness turns blackest.