Untitled, or, In the Center is a Darkness

Untitled, or, In the Center is a Darkness

In the center is a darkness, in the middle, in the center.
Where I meet you, meet you always, in the silence, in the stillness.
How I wish I’d meet you, always, meet you in your breath, the water.
Bleeding now, we bleed together.
Wash away the clinging darkness,
using only blood and water,
wash away the darkness always, ever after, evermore.

The darkness lives there in the middle,
in the center, obfuscated,
hidden from my probing vision.
I would destroy and re-create.

My loved father’s heavy burden
that he simply can’t surrender,
in the ether is the telling,
doesn’t struggle to remember,
pleasure’s records, most perversely,
ethanol consumed, lips loosened,
and it’s minor in the details,
but a child’s heart is fragile,
and it was a forced conscription.

What the master wanted? He made
sure it was communicated
in a most clandestine manner:
fill in blanks, imagination,
can’t imagine at the shaming
that he felt while feeling helpless,
past tense, it’s always and the same.
He personifies your prison.
Smiling, his ejaculation,
not at all was your vocation,
but it was an expectation,
that of course he thought accepted,
task that couldn’t be rejected.

In the details, there is Satan!
Always here, how to address him?
Laughs at blatant adoration,
glories in our two-word praying.
Dark liturgy, gross perversion,
in your hatred, middle finger
raised in cursing, you cry out that
all-purpose spell and curse: “fuck you!”

“I’m a censor of the vanquished,
intercepting their petitions,
making sure it’s not too easy
to transmit communications.
I would stifle their communion,
knowing how to break their spirits,
I immerse in isolation,
it’s a torture most unique,
leaving bruises on the inside.
I will never leave my station,
I’ll prevent illumination,
always shielding them from truth.”