“Lord Vertigo, the Cruel”
bent at the brink, at the epicenter
of a drunken epiphany – we drop
to our needs before the Lord of Light
and pray the darkness away.
we cast our sins upon the stars
the source of our diabolic power
collecting victories about our will.
tantalized by the lies we shape
out of fear.
we murder the magic of the Morning Star
juggling our thoughts at dawn
imprisoning things in vacant names
and troubled by a ripple
in that shallow water
that watches us in terror
like a tidal wave suspended
over all of Crete's liars
whose words are like
a memory of the moon
rewritten a thousand times
until the source is forgotten.
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