Heart Spasmodic

Saint mystification
Enveloped in the lonely sound of thunder-stricken
Rainstorms, that have fallen down to Earth since the
Great flood. Wandering out in the street—for
I am nowhere. Every drop in the pavement’s an
Open wound,
A gaping pool of death
Looking at a small soul with an air of
Elevated prophecy. In front of me the statue of
Justice becomes numb,
Arbor-like, its edges cut into the body of the
Night. Whoever feared the moon just
Doesn’t know the gallows of the sun hold their own
Rope: its everlasting eye lays flesh to
Open fire. In darkness, sleepless thoughts, tangled inside the
Mind’s sheets, turn around condemned by insomnia,
Erring when they think they can make it silent—
Noise. It tap-dances and creeps along the bones,
Don’t stop it—it’s the heartbeat. It hammers as if it wanted itself to be shown in
Open flesh. A runaway from temples and from
Zion, no promised land to hold an
Angel fugitive, no place for acceptance and for
Home. The ghost of night stares at it with
Open eyes, the slow-paced
Crimson guest of this world, its skin marked with the signs of inner
Hunger, the undeniable proof of mortal
Malady, that has outrun heart-strings out of their
Axis, left them to fade away as the raven’s empty echo:
Nevermore… oh…
Nevermore.
…

The Sniper

A minute of shade against the pale skyline,
Stands the chosen wizard, the handiwork of Satan
Untamed upon his hand. He's the owner of now-time,
Him, a snake-charmer, the guardian of the key
To a lake of fire. Every single second means subtraction
Of some unknown, sleepy, foreign heartbeat,
Who drags in its own red-carpet parade
To shake hands with the Maker. But now look!
The crowd, like foaming waves, has begun drifting
And no one has an eye for the astray bird
Who shall shadow the clouds. It is his turn now:
An expert with a dark past of deer hunter
He sets free the swift hawk-eye of the bullet
To fall upon its prey. The last scene is now set:
Already upon the stage, the ultimate tragedian
Turns back; he shall return to his falconer of men.