Posted on August 5, 2011
Here I stand again,
dressed in black again,
on the World’s Stage again, I’m
begging for your mind again, and
hissing blasphemous obscenities at life.
This … my home
This … my church
This … my sanctum sanctorum of
Hate and loathing and dispute and
Dark contravention with the blackness of
this … my soul.
I’m back in that room again,
in the blackest corner again,
filled with cobwebs and
dust and You and
candles and self-revulsion again.
Where are my saviors now,
here in Hell’s black cathedral?
My Jesus or my Buddha, or even a God
damned Jim Jones or David Koresh?
Bombed out Branchers from
a ghost compound,
who would tell me that
They are the light, that
They are the way, that
They are the salvation to
the torment my eyes are wont to see.
Dressed in black again, I’m
holding seances again to
make the dead alive again, while
chanting to absent gods again, and
screaming blasphemous obscenities at