Chaining The Katechon

In a place beyond all resistance

Devouring the roots of the bush of fire

Forsaken even by the crows

The dream of the abortion of Babylon shivers

And stuttering words

As mere echoes in the desert

Vanish in those lower spheres

Where shame is unknown.

It is a vain Earth.

A vision, final, of deceit.

There can be no refuge

In this grotesque liquid flowing

Where shapes melt into each other

Where cause becomes consequence.

To err with the insane

In hostile immensities

How legitimate is the faith into despair ?

A bond of hallowed essence

between all that pulsates

it is the primeval degradation

the erosion, the crumbling,

the everlasting scission.

It is disturbance and anxiety

As absolutes,

for the world is becoming.

Still, a temple stands

And a star shines.

The slopes slaver pus

Towards the skies and the thorn

Courts the wound.

The sun of dolour shines :

They enter in its brilliance

Those who are divided

With their dazzled mouths,

The eerie ray of exile

Shall be their guide.

Scattered they walk towards

The incestuous womb.

The fertile womb of two

And three and all.

The weight of these bodies

In the shallow waters

Shatters the poise.

There is a tear of fire

In the sky of the worlds.

There is a tear of fire

And your tongue of light

Caressed by the silent leprosy

Of your palate

Whispers about the gulch of lies

The tranquil occupation of agony

The dire liquors of a mass-grave

And the perilous pedagogy of the abyss.

We went to the through, Lord.

We went bend and convulsed.

We saw blood, Lord. It was glittering.

You dispensed it and we drank it.

We saw your image.

The gap of our eyes and mouths is void.

We went bent and convulsed.

It broke us and dissolved us.

Liable for the core of the origins

There remains a pulsating debt

Radiant in its multiple scissions

It stands between the mother

And her repudiated child

Behind the hand that murders

And amid attempts of reconciliation.

The dispersion of woe on a vain Earth

Is done with equity.

The task to be achieved, human vocation

Is to become intensely mortal

Not to shrink back

Before the voices

coming from the gallows tree

A work making increasing sense

By its lack of sense

In the history of times there is

But the truth of bones and dust.

Thinly grinded to white powder

In the mill of fragmentation

You give it to brothers and sisters

The remains of the Oath

Vague echoes of a day of midnight

The advent of that which never was

The coming of a man from the grave.

Still a temple stands

And a star shines.

Unceasingly, those who can not be one

Exchange their rings

In an arched world

Exhausted by the division

The stale principle of stellar times.

A ford alike

Between the crimson rivers

Carrying along their murky waters

Countless extinct cradles.

Merely a glance ahead

Resonates the wailing of flowers

Under such a suffocating heat

That men entered into gestation

You hold a palimpsest of dolour

Once forgotten that the fall

Is our fall.

That death is no channel

Anymore to rejoin the clay

of a fractioned God.

The act of a free man

Connected to the balance of the world

Projects itself into the infinite

But the fracture

Its ontological ballast

The dispersion and the overcoming

Bring a harvest of increasing conflict

A descending spiral of splinters

Lacerating the meridians.

The temple stands

Its walls a prison

For the Katechon

While the plowshare grates

On the crystal hard and vivid tear

And blood pours from the furrows

While the star shines high

No place to cover from

Its rotten light

Ho-

sanna

Ho-

san-

na

Ho-

san-

n-

a