By Alexandre Arnau

a torn bit
of light
beating ceaseless
hidden codes
behind my
frail bleeding
tugging on
wires of thin
grey fire

i raise my hands
to shield my mind
there is no refuge
in my hands

the drone
and clang
and shriek
of reality
white furies
from barren temples
to tear and gnaw
at my soul

there is no refuge
in my hands

a blood filled face
snarling hate
and passion
from mirror shards
of reason
blue lines
from black pits
of refracted light

there is nothing
in my hands

the hollow roar
mark the hammerfalls
against me
until that time
when nothingness
blessed nothingness
will reach my shores
and i will
slip under
taking relief
into my hands

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