pavelspoetry.com€¦ · web viewthe dreadful . in sweet spring grass recline and eat, cool the...

THE DREADFUL

In sweet spring grass recline and eat, Cool the blades that touch your feet, Nothing threatens, eat your fill Nothing near you that can kill

But somewhere close the cats await The fall of dusk though it be late, They are patient till they prowl Underneath the silent owl

The evening sun is now alight, See there is no sign of night, Your eyes are big, your ears are long The muscles of your legs are strong

But do not linger here, be sure The grass does not become a lure That so forgetful you lose track And feel the dreadful on your back

Pavel April 7, 2016

Spring CottontailPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

I OFFER THIS BOUQUET

With all the furor over Amoris Laetitia Christ still wanders among us, in the desert of our desolation, If humans dash acid in the faces of children Others repair their facial disfigurements—pro bono, for love

What they ruin, they can repair, and this alone prevents the fullness of horror But truly, many find their human love to be an impediment to their ambitions And when the Devil offers the kingdoms of the Earth to Christ They shove Him aside, crying: Not Him! Give them to me!

Even if their world is small and pitiful they demand a power to be theirs For like any witless organism they seek control over their environment Like any flatworm or any amoeba, or any bonobo, or hyena Except that they have souls and spirits, maddening to them as ticks between the shoulders

So I offer this bouquet in free verse, a tribute to confusion and casual brutality, But there is one red rose in the middle of these irritating thorns For the lovers of love and self-giving love, and love of the Lord’s Creation And on that rose is a drop of dewy blood from the brow of Christ

Pavel April 8, 2016

THE TREE OF LIFE For Jonathan

The pear tree blossoms, clouds of snow Shed petals gently down below, Show that freezing clouds can bear Blossoms spinning through the air

God can rhyme and He can spin Analogies in April wind, Cause the beauty of the tree To blossom by analogy

God can grow by great design An efflorescence of the mind So all that is and what will be Becomes the blossom of a tree

Pavel April 9, 2016

Pear Tree and April SnowPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

THE ENEMY COME TO WAR

Blue sky, red dawn, black night bear witness Here’s the enemy come to war, A shining crown, a golden pillow A pleasure I have seen before

Take and wear, it well becomes you See, though gold, it is not heavy Never worn, I bring it new, Pretty to console the weary

Once I take it from the pillow Once I let the treasure down I see the grinning of the Devil Hot as Hell and running molten

Running molten gold it drops A golden mask around my face, The melting of it never stops, I am the mask of my disgrace

Pavel April 10, 2016

CHEAP GRACE FOR SALE

I heard a man cry at the foot of the Cross “Cheap grace for sale, I sell at a loss—I will for the sake of a scrap of contrition Sell you salvation, console your condition

“That Man on the Cross who groans in distress Is too much in pain to hear you confess, But whisper complaints in the shell of my ear And I will absolve any sin that I hear

“Cheap is my grace, no change is expected We all understand that our souls are infected, But He who is bleeding from side and from limb When seated in heaven will let you come in.”

At the foot of the Cross where the Son of Man died The salesman gave ointment to souls who applied The grease of assurance to many great gashes While Jesus bled freely from nails and from lashes


THE DEMONS OF JUDGMENT

Still in the green of an afternoon Not moving, slow breathing, just after feeding—Predators hunting are cued to motion

Not even a twitch, though a breeze has stirred The fur on its muzzle, it cannot help The gust in the air that has occurred

Those that move are eviscerated—Discover the rabbits the cats have found Their heads and their bodies separated

Listen, the law for them is strict And yet for us the moral law Is not yet canceled or derelict

At your mortal peril you violate The laws of God, the laws of love While the demons of judgment lie in wait


CottontailPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

EACH FORETELLING OF THE OTHER

There is a certain shallow cast To April sunshine, it will last Because good Spring has taken hold With milky whiteness, bashful gold—Already in the soil there feed Sow bugs, springtails round the seed

And in the souls of men and women Even those whose minds are driven Seeds were planted long ago Of which the spirit may not know—They burst to reach the golden foil Around the sun, bright Heaven’s soil

Each foretelling of the other Spring of days and Spring forever


Each Foretelling of the OtherPhoto by Pavel Chichiko

UNTIL THEY CALL

Too bad the frost has kept some people in, They have missed the best of early spring, But see the adder’s tongue, spring beauty spread, At last the sun is warming, hastening

Bitter wind and cold, she said, were hard But still we must submit, have no control, Then she smiled and shrugged without a word, The sun descending tugged against the cold

Dragged the chill away and let it down To gather in the shadows of the beech, Thence it will flow deeper underground Where even highest summer cannot reach

Earth will keep it there until the fall Collected as a density of frost, Sunless and inert until they call: The winds of dark December to the lost


NEAR WHITEMAN AIR FORCE BASE

I watched him stuffing sacks with grain Behind a fence the pigs would watch Till not a kernel would remain

Across the road his brother built A very modern piggery Starting up from barrows, gilts

He’ll lose his shirt, he said to me Indicating with a shovel The gilt and barrow factory

Down the road he had a field The government had confiscated For a missile silo, sealed

Around the silo there was corn He planted there to be a sign That out of death life can be born

Then along the interstate I drove to Kansas and beyond Leaving bacon to its fate


UNTIL THERE IS NO MORE TO GIVE

I remember an old retriever Galloping out of the brakes, Ticks attached to its golden flanks Like bundles of pale blue grapes

Ticks of the neck and ticks of the head Swayed on the golden fur, The dog unaware of its parasites That big infested cur

So the life of the God deprived Draws its parasites, The tick that sucks the blood is still But silently it bites

Hungry ticks of every kind Drink the freshest blood Until there is no more to give Though giving would be good


FISHING FOR TROUT AT MARY ANN’S CREEK

A dark flotilla, almost dead Moves upstream along the Creek In rank and file that hardly stirs, Sunfish, crappie, dwarfed and weak

A funeral procession nearly Motionless and yet proceeds But may turn sideways, show a flank, A silver side among the weeds

He casts his line and then draws up The limp unwanted, throws it in, The water has been stocked with trout, But not a single rosy fin

Imagine then that Jesus lets His silver line of life drift by To catch a soul or two for grace, Perhaps the souls are you and I

The Christ looks down to see the catch That wriggles weakly then goes slack, “A poor one though I stocked the world With spirits” Does He throw it back?


CrappiePhoto by Pavel Chichikov

FACE TO FACE

It is a kind of amorous embrace, Hyacinth and bee go face to face, Pressed against each other, intimate, Though different in kingdom they beget

Come to know the world is sexed and fecund Even mountains to the clouds have beckoned, Seas have mounted continents and they Have sent as progeny their silt away

Know the rules of continence that govern Calcium that percolates and cavern, Only human beings, who are lax, Can break the rules and cover up their tracks

Now has all the pollen been dispersed, The pregnancy of summer been rehearsed


Hyacinth BeePhoto by Pavel Chichikov

THE TIME THAT HAS STOPPED

The bee stands in air at the waiting blossom, All shall be well at the crabapple tree The time that has stopped is the time of heaven


Crabapple BeePhoto by Pavel Chichikov

EVERY CREATURE

The Holy Spirit has accusers Devils of the day and tempters, Prosecutors turned to stone, Each immobile, each alone

An angel came to bring petition Asking Mary for submission: Be the bearer of the Son A sufferance the Dove has won

Take my answer to the plea, I bow to what He wants of me, Reach as high as You may go I am His handmaid here below

Every creature is a sign That bears the seal of the divine And even of the sacrifice Of Joseph, Mary for the Christ


NOT A SINGLE FACE

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/2016/03/15/aborted-babies-incinerated-to-heat-uk-hospitals/

Here’s your post in Hell—These small aborted bodies which you burned To heat your buildings Be certain that they’re turned

Make sure the fire touches all the sides, Burns the hollowed cradle of the brain, Keep burning, use the poker in your hand Be certain not a single face remains

Do not let the fire be extinguished Even if the winds of hell should blow—If you let the fire die Into the flames you summon you will go

This is Hell We use the heat


http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/2016/03/15/aborted-babies-incinerated-to-heat-uk-hospitals/

REMEMBER THAT

Here’s your birthday present, said my father Dying forty years ago no hindrance Handing me a box, black box, an oblong Tapered towards the ends, like stiffened leather

Tougher than I can remember, competent Hard faced, moving towards some iron tackle Arranging it along a deck or floor A coastwise freighter’s deck made of cement

When I looked inside the box there were Sweets that I am fond of, always have been Chocolate brownie on the top, but then Other treats he knows I like, prefer

Swiftly strongly then he moved away Businesslike, he had more things to do, No explanation why he had remembered Or why there was no more for him to say

I think the dead are busy with affairs To make up for a deficit on Earth, For them in death there is a second birth, Remember that in saying of your prayers


ALL THAT LIVES

It hauls itself to a slant of wood Extends, presents the neck’s extension To the gentle warming April sun

Wordless is the prayer to Christ Who is the warmth and light of day Who is the Word that creatures pray

Out of the lake they come to be All that lives belongs to Him And this that wakes to bask and swim


BaskingPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

PITIFUL DECREES

Thunder in the morning What will it have brought? Announcement of the coming That some of us have sought

The coming soon of justice Requital of our sorrow But also of a menace The ending of tomorrow

All our plans are broken Like nutshells in a dish Ambitions are forgotten Like any foul wish

Pitiful decrees Commandments of the small, On their hands and knees The powerful must crawl


A SATIRICAL STATUE

When Lenin’s life was through In Volgograd was erected His statue on top of a giant screw

Foretelling how Truth will conquer The solemn weakling falsehood Who has no sense of humor

In heaven, on Earth no stronger Than Truth, who is the light When darkness shall be no longer

But some can restrain a laugh As the golden vomit runs From the mouth of the molten calf


MARMOT

A marmot at the borderland Inspects the strict frontier, We have made a fence to bar Whatever bides not here

There is no trust in their country Of any different kind, Where none like them is ever free To flout the grand design

Who can break the oaths of beasts To keep themselves apart? Sooner, later one must die, The other will depart

Something shattered is in us And something else is given, As much as in the death of us The truth of life is hidden


Which Side of the Fence?Photo by Pavel Chichikov

TAKE MINE

The Lord God said I’ll let you see My glory But cross the fragile bridge I have constructed From Earth to Heaven, passing over Hell

Do not put your weight down with your steps The bridge will shake and tremble, blur your vision You will not see My glory if you do

But who, Lord God, can walk and not have weight You gave me mass embodied on the Earth I am no spiderling to float through air

The Lord God answered this by saying thus: Your faith is weightless, massless, so is love When you become your faith and love, then pass

Can I then, Lord God, discard my flesh And drain the blood that’s in it from my veins—Take Mine, He said, and pass across the bridge


THE COWCUPINE

We are the most exclusive ones, we make the rules, Intelligence belongs to us, the rest are fools, Good is what we say it is, because there’s no God to tell us what to do above, below

To interbreed large cattle with Rodentia Was thought to yield an interesting chimera, So we bred a milk cow with a porcupine As stimulating research into cow design

But when the cow was milked the creature spread her quills, Her milk could not be drawn from her against her will, An error made, we’ll never make that one again When breeding slaves and loyal servants from free men


ETIAM OMNES—EGO NON

Others may the Lord abandon I will not said Peter Simon Etiam omnes—ego non

The signal of derision crowed Peter paid not what he owed Etiam omnes—ego non

Those who pledge their loyal trust Prepare to lie down in the dust Etiam omnes—ego non

Until the end that pledge is made Through blood and water you must wade Etiam omnes—ego non

If to Christ your soul you swear Then for Golgotha prepare Etiam omnes—ego non

Those who swear and then submit Lament forever that they quit Etiam omnes—ego non

Burn with sorrow and self-hate Their spirits self-annihilate Etiam omnes—ego non

Those who sell their spirits rot They wish forever they were not Etiam omnes—ego non


WITHOUT ANY HARM

They made the centaur live again, by error bred It had a human body and a horse’s head, We saw it prancing down the street and turned to say ‘How wonderful to hear it speak when it says “neigh.”’

Soon they made an emu with a human face Tiny-brained but with a car it could keep pace, Fabulous the creatures that they made for fun, They might compose a monster out of anyone

Soon the world was filled with parodies of us Sold as an amusement for the prosperous, The profits were enormous of the fetal farms That gave us such amusement without any harm


PROLOGUE

They cleanse their skins of lice, repair their feathers Instinctual it seems but also clever, Impulse is a wisdom can replace The need to pray, for God supplies the grace

But when the soul is baptized in the spring Of grace there is a spirit on the wing Descending to the well where Jesus said I am the life, in Me there are no dead

In every creature Christ anticipates In mimicry the human sacred state, The prologue of salvation in the light That God in love divided from the night


BirdbathPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

THE TWO-HEADED BEARDED TRANSVESTITE

Is gender a thing of the mind? Asked one bearded head of the other, It depends on how it’s defined My sister, or are you my brother?

What is your gender today A man or a woman, whatever? Tell me yours first and I’ll say I’m the opposite, just to be clever

Kindly don’t stare at my nose Turn your head to the left not the right, Why do you step on my toes When you know that your shoe is too tight?

I wish you would wash a bit more, Stop using that greasy pomade, I’ve wanted to show you the door But I’d have to come too I’m afraid

I think we should play the piano We’ll call us the I and the We, You’ll be the mezzo soprano And the bass baritone will be me


BUT THEN MAJESTIC

Oak and juniper and beech Launch their pollen, spread their reach, Let the wind take up their lust Cover hills with every gust

Only few will pollinate Find a female cell and mate, But in their numbers out of sum They are an ample minimum

Listen then, the word of heaven Is likened to a rain of pollen, Small as one to see and yet Forests of the soul begets

For at the end the world will be A woodland of enormous trees Each a soul beginning small But then majestic, heaven-tall


SEE ALEPPO BURNING

The ticker clerk I met Came a kid from Halab An ancient Arab city Which others call Aleppo

Illustrious and age-old City of Hadad The storm god of the Hittites Of Allah and of Christ

Of silk and English merchants Of mosques and many Christians Five thousand years and more Destroyed by civil war

The Mongols conquered Halab Tamerlane constructed A hill of many skulls But had no high explosive

No sticking phosphorus No thermobaric bombs No rocket launching salvos No automatic swords

Proud he was to be Descended from Aleppo Selling rides on buses From a counter in New York

Five thousand years are crushed Beneath the bomb and boot, An AK-47 That even children shoot

Would knock a hole in Tamerlane Who built a mound of skulls Twenty thousand in a heap And thought that he did well

Now this foul century Of Christ the 21st Will prove in massive slaughtering In time to be the worst

See Aleppo burning As all the people flee But on their faces superpose The face of you or me


THE PARASITE OF LOVE

Malware fed into a cyber system Changing charges on the chips at random, A hive’s corruption causing foul brood In bees that makes them use their young as food

So a changed identity in children Symptom of malignance and infection, Perversion and defilement of the weak The commonplace acceptance of the freak

But to what end beyond the lewd disease, What deep clandestine power does it please? It is the enemy that lives within The parasite of love that we call sin


FALLEN SUNLIGHT

If you turn the soil of May Black with rain the birds will come To pick their living from the clay

Those who turn the soil of love Attract the spirit of the Christ Who comes in likeness of a dove

Those who turn the soil of hate Attract the vermin of the sky That glide above the earth and wait

A bird that lay all winter long In cold and snow was not consumed, We buried now to right a wrong

To give it back and not to hide, To let the creatures of the dark With fallen sunlight be supplied

Pavel May 1, 2016

THAT’S A SECRET YOU WILL KNOW

The Romans said that if a flock Flew left to right across a field It was an omen of good luck A fortune hitherto concealed

But if a cottontail should leap From left to right across my step What secret does a rabbit keep Revealed by where the creature leapt?

Superstition is an art More than physics, more than math But which is the consistent part When rabbits hop across my path?

That’s a secret you will know Because you have a rabbit’s mind, When you leap do not be slow And be a part of what you find

Pavel May 2, 2016

BUT IT DID HIM NO GOOD

One is a liar and one is a crank One would be king, one would be queen Out of those millions three hundred eighteen

Out of all those is there no other choice? In the ages called Dark, the cruelest and best At lopping off heads in the royal robes was dressed

Now in the age when money is honed Like the sharpest of blades the weapon’s a check Or favors of power, not a stroke through the neck

But take this example of what may develop: When Clovis of Gaul was king of the Franks He lined up his warriors, gave them his thanks

One who had crossed him wore a fine sword So Clovis requested a look at the weapon Then swung it, the man to his shoulders was riven

The form may be different, the instinct the same An underling’s vengeance, the balance of power The lopping of heads when dependence turns sour

Domitian was Roman and trusted no one Made the corridors marble and buffed them as fine As mirrors, he saw what was coming behind

But it did him no good, he was killed in his bath Where the steam made him blind and they held his head under And then from his body they lopped it asunder

Pavel May 3, 2016

WHEN CHRIST WAS SOLD

A masterpiece that anyone can see Who would buy the only Chipping Sparrows In the world to contemplate in privacy?

A rufous cocky cap and velvet breast Wren-tight, close-fitting in its fluttering What more perfect shape could one suggest?

Even the most covetous would fail They are so common there can never be Of Chipping Sparrows anyone’s monopoly

Nor could anyone claim copyright To sell their own permissions for the song No more than hold a patent to their flight

I tell you though, someday, someone will try To own the world and all within entire All things that swim and crawl and run and fly

And that will be the anti-Christ foretold Who was the priestly Temple functionary When Christ for thirty silver coins was sold

Pavel May 4, 2016

HOW TO EXPLAIN THE DELIRIUM

How to explain the delirium In which the land was spinning? The King was a Queen and the Queen wasn’t sure Which loo she should be using

The doctor told the minister It must be in the water But he wasn’t entirely sure himself If his son was not his daughter

Prince to princess, which is which, And what is our true gender? He could not tell her what she was But maybe he could lend her

So the kingdom fell apart Because it was perplexed: Who was he and which was she Or were they even sexed?

Perhaps it would be better then To leave it all in limbo, Let the girls become the men And the bim become the bimbo

Pavel May 5, 2016

INFINITY IN LOVE

If we had eyes to see in many frames Like dragonflies, three hundred to our sixty, Swiftness in a second could be tamed Slowing down the tempo of immensity

My camera caught a sparrow in a trice, Too strenuous in pushing off to sing, A fast to fire lens was my device To see within an instant on the wing

Imagine then if we had heaven’s eye Could grasp the world and every second of, Could see as one all flashings going by—What vastness of infinity in love

Pavel May 6, 2016

Zoom!Photo by Pavel Chichikov

TRANSPARENT AND AS BLACK AS COAL

We are the blackbird perching high A silhouette against the sky But no one has uncovered yet The song within the silhouette

The rasping cry within the throat Can be expressed by wave and note But nothing sees so far inside As throat and ballad unified

A whining rasp above the reed A psalm unlike a human creed, A scarlet flash that lights the wing But what is that which needs to sing?

What can be the spirit part That makes a hymn from simple art? What is that inside my soul Transparent and as black as coal

Pavel May 7, 2016

BlackbirdPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

IT IS MY WAY

In that cathedral rising beyond death An usher took a candle from the altar Turned with one hand cupped around the flame To keep the light from harm as he came towards me

Take this candle, save it from the winds That blow in outer darkness where the souls Who wait to enter in remain at nightfall So they can follow you and meet the Christ

But guard the candle, let it not blow out Or you and they may lose the way to God—So then I took the candle from his hands And felt the warmth of safety on my skin

When with care I passed the open doors A wind came out of darkness like a fiend So that the flame leaned wildly and it burned me And the crowd of souls that waited turned away

I held the flame at last so that it stood So that it cast a sheltering of light—Come with me, I said, and I will guide you It is my task to lead you to the altar

It is my task to lead you to the altar And that is how I gain the sacrament Of blood and flesh that feeds immortal souls, It is my way to find eternity

Pavel May 8, 2016

BUT TELL ME

The tree and quarter moon Engaged in dialogue, You will be fuller soon But I will be a log

You are so ancient-new And I will break and perish, Though so tall I grew In sawdust I will vanish

Do not be so weary Said the moon to her, Despair is just a theory—Are you pine or fir?

Though so old will I Also come and go, Positively die The phases of me show

Break into a ring Like one that circles Saturn, A cycle always brings The same decreasing pattern

There is but one immortal Abiding till forever, Existence is a portal—But tell me: What is weather?

Pavel May 9, 2016

Moon and TreePhoto by Pavel Chichikov

ARTIFACT

Baskets with their yellow pollen she Appears to work in focused ecstasy, Picks the pollen from the anther’s head Or penetrates the nectary instead By making a mandibular incision—Nothing can divert her from her mission

How beautiful she is in gold and black Her veiny wings extended and relaxed And when she lifts herself away and flies She hovers close and gazes in your eyes So large they are and black they are as glass On which the smoke of burning wood has passed

The patience of the artist made us thus From egg to bee or from homunculus

Pavel May 10, 2016

Bee HarvestPhoto by Pavel Chichikov

I HEARD THE SERGEANT SAY

To grow aged, to have seen The gray Pacific Fleet At anchor in the Hudson

Old to this extent That living crewmen of the planes Now look withered, bent

I heard the sergeant say When six I climbed aboard The new Enola Gay

Gratified and calm We destroyed Hiroshima With the atomic bomb

I think I would reply If seeing forward then You will soon be dead and we will die

Those who now are small As I in ‘45 Will not grow up at all

For what you started then Though awful to behold Is merely specimen

I can look forward too While looking back Such is the aging view

The sound of such a war Plunging from the future I can hear it roar

No past or future tense It is all present now Not before or hence

Time and space are torn And so to paradox—The age of death is born

Pavel May 11, 2016

MADMAN’S DICE

I love to hear the rain come down See the spring rain touch the leaves, A flick that makes them tremble just A quiver almost no one sees

Space enfolding, leaves are small Drops of rain are smaller still, Some receive a light rainfall If by gamble, if by will

Will controlling every drop Every quiver leaf by leaf, Every pulse that beats or stops Every joy and every grief

Or else no will at all in all, It is a gambler’s universe To wager on a spring rainfall And then a profit or reverse

I think that every drop of rain Uncountable is yet precise, Or else creation is insane The rain a game of madman’s dice

Pavel May 11, 2016

EXCEPT FOR SUMMER THUNDER

The clock is sounding four but it is seven It is forever lacking or too fast, A smaller town does not expect precision, Nerves about the future or the past

Often down the center of the street On summer nights we stroll without unease Although by day it is a county seat, Otherwise we saunter as we please

The Alleghenies overlook the valley, Turbines turn above us on the hills, Steady winds prevail enduringly, Day and night the blades are never still

Better to be slow and keep a temper Quiet and unhurried as the clouds That slip away and never even whisper Except for summer thunder deep and loud

Pavel May 12, 2016

IT HAS PLANS

It has plans for all, the race transformed, A mostly genderless, a sexless swarm, Reproduction phased in for a few, These are plans to set us all askew

Envious it suffers for control, Dominance, a new a greater role Than that it was assigned when life began—It also loathes the label for us, Man

It wants another nomenclature, “thing” For neuter animals without a sting, Those who rule the hive will reproduce, Queens and drones controllable by use

If it can command such progeny No need then for the pronouns “you” and “me” All will be the identical, an “it”, Through the world will run the Devil’s writ

Pavel May 13, 2016

DAY AND DARKNESS IN A WILDERNESS

You would not think they had the trait of self, In your world view machines of flesh and feather, But see the brilliance of the eye, expression, Alertness and ability together

But is there self-awareness in the bird, An inward concentration of the blight That made us conscious of our nakedness, Or else pure gladness capable of flight?

It is a coin flung upward by the Lord A spendthrift sign of joy, of His largesse, Of light and life and being in accord, Of day and darkness in a wilderness

Pavel May 14, 2016

Goldfinch 1Photo by Pavel Chichikov

ON THE FIFTEENTH OF MAY

On the fifteenth of May the call of the crow, Ripples of wind through the rows of the green, Spring is aborted in flurries of snow, The air is dehydrated, frigid and keen

A phase transition which nobody looked for The sun having mounted the Tropic of Cancer, Darkness perceived through a half-opened door , Mistrust of the shadows without any answer

Then through the summer no week without frost North of the lakes in the hollows it lies, Grain on the prairie is stunted and lost, In their failure to thrive the wild fowl die

The sun is less luminous, suddenly weak, No one can say when the warmth will return, After all we were fragile, stability’s freak, We look up at the sun and say: Burn, damn you, burn

Transition begins on the fifteenth of May The sun in decline in its cycle of brightness, Those who remember their offices pray Those who do not have no means of contriteness

Pavel May 15, 2016

BECAUSE THEIR SOULS ARE EMPTY

They tattoo a depiction Underneath the skin, But now to mutilation Inserted farther in

Surgical, hormonal, A new identity Bogus and abnormal A failed attempt to be

There will be amputation Removal of a limb, Prosthetic substitution A herd-conforming whim

There will be some castration With trophies in a jar, Formal admiration Of organ and of scar

Because their souls are empty The most of them are jaded, They’ll pay with ready money And will be mutilated

Pavel May 16, 2016

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