Threnodist

Blessed is he who keeps pulling threads —
A lamenter catching reflections from within
You, a seasoned sifu of requiems —
The dirge master playing the largest violin

Abhorring de-opacifications
Commenced before the succession of realities
Ants saturating all configurations
Unflaggingly hiking on corpuscles

Over-easy eggs hanging from crutches
Overlooking inverted Monet skies
Would I like them boiled by the amplified noise floor
Should I consume the resurrection of Christ

The howling clouds gliding in our eyes —
We know peace when they are restless
Mists sailing on staff, allegro
Playing the song of tristesse deathless

Tangent to my deeds, the conduct; my actions,
refulgent with viscosity
Swallowing into themselves,
pinioned motions continually enmeshed

To nullify the shrieking nothingness,
the successional blustering intervals
I drag weights of bedrocks with me
I bring together impossible walls

A suspended line — a tense fiber
Cutting through ether unbent
The ray of my soul — impartible —
Accompanying one's deafening tranquil

Fuck you motherfucker and
let me perform a song of
mourning for you right now

The howling clouds gliding in our eyes —
We know peace when they are restless
Mists sailing on staff, allegro