He Who is Hated*

look, I can manipulate monsters
with the invisible strings of their
predictable desires
their pride
where dusk struggles
to circle echoes
to forgive this

my bed
that isn’t a vacuum
i'd pretend to give birth to hOles
(second dreams) seeking

because it has to
embody sensation

or else we’d cannibalize a name
bottling out of a god's esophagus

everyone's prayer
is itself for an apocalypse
interiorized violence always
makes its way outside

so when faith cuts your pretense
and the “sin” shade monster masters
bind you to your guile
and blind you

guilty spirits will circle
your personal subjection

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*he who is hated: a possible translation of Odysseus' name