the world is fuming. the world is falling. into the extermination of the name of god. which expands from a center and obliterates all flesh. rendering it to nothing its last leg standing betrayed by the arrogance of the stamp. the name, the capacity to contain something meant to be eternally in motion.
no name can contain the great Generator who moves us like chess pieces. across time and space. on strings of our own desire. into traps we cannot fathom. and places we have never been.
no sacrifice will shadow the doorlock. that hides the secret of Tantalus' dance. we are asleep, dreaming in our desire. grasping that which lies ahead. there aren't enough psychic enemas in the world to squeegee clean the holes our desire makes in the shapes of unformed time.
the world, a womb, wide apart housing the
left over clothing of our expired selves
will be released into the crap of maggots
so that every spark be born anew
in the land of a second Eden
where to name a thing
is to bring it into being
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