Rust (re-edited)

... shoulders shrug, "well, we must."


And if he who,
entrusted with knowing
the world,
is not first known himself
by Him who ordained the knowing,
it will cry out
and we
will rage                      as one
by a thousand different songs
and a million sunless dawns
behind mask untold
and pride unbold
not to slack nor cease
until our house-deceased
and toppled-low
all we’ve built
to silt and dust
and reclaims the day –  our rust –
and shrugs, saying, “well, we must.”


To truly commune with God, if even possible, The Self must be obliterated.


I write only to be known.

Indeed, to the extent that I continue to find myself unknown and heart-undisturbed, my skill as a wordsman grows ever more powerful — and ravenous.

(The irony is not lost on the fact no one ever has nor probably ever will actually read my work.)