Urgent Current

I visited the church of the nonbelievers

where willingly I sat covered in flailing polar agitations 

sputtering in repetitious gestures of humility and flamboyance 

spotlight reverence offered in recognition of a true flame set alight by fable

preciousness lured to a precipice

beckoning relief and preservation 

and the work begins when mouth is offered 

clearing wires now engage 

all piercing deep as a clenched jaw is shot with crackling current 

the bite issued in the darkest of frozen ground 

deep in shadows of towering neglect 

in attempts to infuse an odd and rare flame with conflicting "whips of opinion"

this choral cacophony negates every sense

eyes pierced blind

sounds shrilled to bursting deafness

teeth pulled

tongue removed

hands chopped

sex sewn

the surgery of enlightening 

pulls from the recollective gallery of the mind's theater

words gushing outward in type 

measured by half a revolution of snaking

as a budding flower is plucked

as vase is now grave

as certain as fictions fracture

with movie set sugar glass glory  

the vacancy of real waking action 

honey smeared on shards

delivered in dilapidated definites 

as hot hurried air emanates from the cupidinous

in an attempt to fuse initial charm's glory

into a collection of stained glass 

now grasping at self gratifying rushes 

with every flick of that common tarnished tongue

melting the figurehead iceblock 

oozing unsightly revulsions

pouring from the cracks to fill the hollow of the relieved chimera

delved into any other as anomaly became common

evident vapid now satiates vapid 

sparks the withdrawal and retreat of the odd and rare

set to secure it's singularity in trivial commonalities where the flippant are sure to disregard 

the no longer numbed congregant 

rid of any clutched echoing figments 

rises from the pew

Set to continue to seek the truest unencumbered hour on a revamped stage

the theater groundlings continue to bawk, boo, hiss, ooh, and ahh

and the day begins in a billowy amnesia

...

My dear, is it not all simply a theater of facades?