In One of These, I Am Your Enemy

Cheiron, the wounded, the teacher Descendant of deified monsters We align our stars in his reflection Our beast blood raging and fatally poisoned Harnessed through fashioning insight Our offering an ever-shifting immortality To empower you, Prometheans Words, time, eyes Like swords, spears, shields For the breaking and making of worlds For the breaking and making of worlds We align our stars in his reflection We teach the art of sublimation Transforming Lernaean poison Alchemical fire From blindness and disease We align our stars in his reflection For the breaking and making of worlds We align our stars in his reflection

An infinite loop of forking roads in which they who Draw the map trace the roads most travelled As possibility is not a given in blood It is bestowed upon or wrenched from grasps. A stylus which punctures the notion of presence A plain which only captures its perceived distances. Labyrinth, layer, stream A flow of earth and gold, means and power We speak their language We give away victory upon victory The third, the second, the first face of defeat Slain The conjuring of illusory permanence Represent the world back to itself A monistic world-entanglement To judge all of this as given Is to fall into despair I have molded this being into my image This story’s frames are the limits I have set A line which weaves and collapses onto itself Until the mirror does not reflect but welcomes. An incomplete but not inaccurate representation of being. Hiding worlds, not world Worlds of such wealth Such wealth Unlimited power and unlimited danger An endless field of caverns Conjure the irreal Where are the gaps and the cracks in the sphere? We wander the spaces between the worlds Looking back over wreckages, labyrinths, versions

I am almost among the nonexistent, teetering on a precipice The last marrowed bone scaffolds still extrude offered up for the impact Of a rolling and searching and beating tide of fear Night and blindness If I am not recognized as real, what is done to me cannot be described as violence What lays ahead of me will not be worth remembering, a systemic incompatibility I remain, suspended, but still, strangely, animated Night and blindness A scepter, a specter, a scythe A precipice refuge, Ordained for endangered life, Exposed, and barren, and windswept. Sovereignty claimed through the work of death, A spiral transgression. A spiral transgression. Night and blindness A scepter A specter A scythe Transgression ingrained through suspended attack, An enemy’s revelation. Sovereignty claimed through the work of death, A spiral transgression. Night and blindness A scepter, a specter, a scythe, Witness to an amputation, Ordained for life laid bare, The sequelae of excommunication. Night and blindness A scepter A specter A scythe When the blood of the other Is an attempt on my blood When the life of the other Is an attempt on my life Existence anchored in erasure Existence for a ruler of life A few scented flakes of violet ‘With his death fade the dreams of the world’ Life beyond utility, A thing condemned, Forced to stand, All transparency and massacre, Decreed to be nothing, Ungrievable, In death-worlds of exception.