sonnet

 

                                       A.V.


acrid bombs drip from your inkwell
you seem to be resurrectionist of death after death
by discovering your rabid verses
my 'poetic will' treasonous withdraws semi-blast,
& wraps itself up in beautiful shroud....within it i will dwell
as long as  Imperium Romanum of modernity decays
future wont appear
only repeating past chants its chapters for greedy mankind
presence is death - death is presence
how many fumes of sacred poisons one should inhale
to grasp astute delirium of 'childish' truisms
you utter in 'absolute sobriety of conscience'..
be blessed, Alien, Lautréamont revisited,
the gorgeous spawn of hell