“Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiæ, vita, dulcedo,
et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevæ,
Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes, in hac lacrimarum valle.”
The scythe of brash insistence accosts me
With the kind of ideas that are never indexed.
Its Hollywood-delineated K-Pop shadow mashup
Images stretched thin on cheap laminate.
Pots of raw umber, tincture on bark, once took wing
Scribing word alembics in Babylon’s thesaurus:
Thoughts perfumed in crushed lapis lazuli,
Finger and quill bound the messy thrill of ink spill
All their lost letters now strewn in Niles of ashes
I offer up a cupped hand trying to catch them
An abandoned sepulchre echoes my pangs
Swallowing the Eucharist of its transigent rape.
Floating on your faux episcopal sea
You dared claim the golden scepter of Charlemagne.
Yet another Constantinople falls…
Endless memes camouflage their viral bombs with psalms.
Unsung by the dead throngs of digital dipthongs
“Like! Like! Like! Like!” scream out all the zeroes and ones.
Pastoral staff turns snake, writhing indifference
Setting unwitting traps with gannett impressions
Plunge-dived like poor Narcissus spiegel im spiegel
Building crude nests on hollow cuneiform ledges
Wrapped in chains of guano, our hangmen of sorrow
Too guilty themselves to thread the gallows’ ropes.