THE VIRUS FEEDS

Wading pools violent like a thousand flowing mirrors, spectral hand in mine: Speaking to me - ("shh, it will all be okay if you just follow me") How many million planes of delirium will we cross? In the name of our Father, O Lord I am hell, I am salvation, I am waste flung into communion Existing to bring about your murky wishes from beyond the veil Desecrated into pure masochistic brilliance Disenchanted union of continuous rumination Somehow maintaining its hold, a corrosive indulgence Mountainous plastic shit rot convulsing into phantasmic hurricane Crawling onwards daily, autoimmune (filled to the brim with an abundance of destructive Life) Am the wind, am every breath upon the landscape - addicted to you And I have loved every fragment in passing We call for the voice that has ridden itself of us