Untitled—February, 2025
Moon, silver and gilded adrift phantasmagorical lightlessness
Attenuated river on the banks of the shore, far away anywhere
Vilified by iron harpsichords, steel laurel wreaths unremembered,
Rosettes y sangre apart their bloom, what blossoms her Septembers;
The fiction imperial as sunflowers wilt, their petals jellyfish tendrils
Opine then oppugned, carefree if-caressed; a state of stateless people
Whose umbilical horses withdrew crosses and rooks, anew midsummer
Breathed ashes from dawn song, skeletal angels, Los Angeles renaissance
As love absconds to dark, eternal fog beyond the poetry of purgatory;
Recalescent eyes neither forbidden nor lost speak to empire graveyard,
Hoisted requisite upon crusade mâché, static-textual, fimbrial timbre
Silent hence afflictive blesses, kisses leprous, kin if-malignant fleshed
Was jellyfish apotheosis, translucent bioluminescence yet repentance
That pierce the hides of deer become carcass, of arrows sky perdition
Azure liminally obscure, the clouds are a luxury of the deserved, were
Effigies writ past haste, wore saintless ghosts in Kanaval demon masks
When the future refused to change did time unwill itself to adapt;
Crux-ing internal schematics lined by inkblots and liquid X-Rays,
Moonlessness, sunless intermediaries befit rogue breath apart death
Of universality since this pontiff inlayed circumstance with guess,
While some live only for tomorrow to rescue them, others can’t
Understand the writing on the wall needn’t be different, mustn’t
Challenge omnipresent directions when the air negates oxygen,
Setting ablaze hearts with lightless fire, burns eternity in seconds
Infernal internals, the luster loses its absence in abscesses, access
A dawn at the end of the tunnel, where sound is without volume
Skies uninterrupted by smoke and artificial candles, for archangels
Whom adore their mother of creation more than the world below;
To make music, love, creativity, expression and joy from skin-contact
Like everything counts on it, like something’s in need of whatever it is
That happens when quietness envelopes unanswered prayers and tears
Because what was once far from Eden becomes, regretfully, a little closer.
© 2025, A. M. D’Angelo
