threats

this fiction of mine laboured flux in the skull

of mysteries and memories worked by furies

to the wheel is dealt a willing thread

into my masked man´s clasp

he sets my steps unfailing to his pull

and tells me purblindly my flesh is dirt

and mine the shards of faith i tread

(hope is on hold at the scafold)

and within the walls riotous voices call

a thousand and one kabbalahs

each one proposing direct cause and each one

spousing next one each one imposible

as the previous certain

(here Anguish live from The Cherry Point –

now turned to truths the nerves so harshly keep

i run my yarns along the plank i blindly trip

the fall is free…

(at the trapdoor to serve the lores of a cretin one

bows his head and one places tightens the noose  

 

just before sixty -about 23:38- and clueless still

801 live...25 or 6 too...for one proceeds to separate all things

with the understanding that those episodes thought of as

terminated chain a chain faithless in the inevitable outcome

and here they come -everyone tells us about father time-

-when it tics when it tocs and there's someone who sounds

a gong one who rings a bell even a tuba blast is on the score

she asks about your frame and you answer without shame

-yes...and yes this and yes that...blast it all

we rant with or without objective references making 
exception with laboured ideas and feelings mirrored

with images extracted from past experience and perception

-let us say fiction pouring out as fact over dreams over

(margarita, play a song you blind tart...or is it magdalena)

say...your number would be...what...

the number of angels who fell from heaven on fire 
winging wildly in the torn wind crying 
is said to be set in the great black mercy book

but how many of them found the earthbound way 
is anybody's guess

one sound check with the countless souls 
who through abominable deeds and wicked counsels 
found themselves in the same position

may yield the suspicious data needed to arrive 
at the desired number

any coincidence with the memberchips of one bikers 
gang and their alleged chapters would be matter 
for further consideration although you should know 
that coming down is best in the company of our cohorts 
if only to feel less lonely 
'cause wailing is of no avail when the wind cries mary 
ramona or any number and blows you burnt clean 
leaving life's shadow fixed in a grin