Leon Moon

Then, with a weak hand, he wrote:
‘I must stop dreaming, I am nearly seventeen,
To forge that grand old age bespoke
I mustn't rest in an evocation wisdom has yet seen
...

Condemned to the last subjective death,
Freed by the assessment of sorrow,
Frenzies of glass crystallise a breath
Preserving the final reign of tomorrow.
...

Deprived of her depravity
She relies on for sanity,
She rips me apart so silently,
Crushed by the wind of her armed neutrality,
...

The Earth I find
Is the centre of my mind;
Despite infinity
It shows itself to me;
...

Only If I had the braveries of Dawn,
Where all is possible and all is seen
But I jump out of bed and arch in drowsiness
Putting socks, trousers and idleness all on my suit
...

It turns out, and with all spiritual sincerity, I belong to the Eve of Starvation.
An infinity objectifying its own existence, I slaughter the opportunity of eternal nothingness, weaving flesh from a pendulum struck by a tear of lightning.
Everything tilts but never turns, seemingly capsizing without ever fully being sunk.
This rare moment we call the universe cherishing its own existence is pure negation.
...

run up the bass like shiva

Mad gone mad smack a diva
...

I awoke to my own corpse
And flowers my lover brought.
The war was fought
And not fought enough.
...

green, orange and purple are all in agreement
that black and white are synonyms
destroying each other's silence
the conflict arises
...

Before the heavenly hours have stopped bleeding
And there is but one soul to be delivered
An altar will be fashioned from the hollowed
Skull of the saved, in a sleep that kills the dreaming.
...

The afterlife offers new appetite.
The skeleton's granted impunity.

Prophets cannot rely on words to write,
...

separation is the first dissolution
refunding any illusion of self
for the mirror only ever sees
through the eyes of someone else.
...

These men besides me
Were so much older
When I was a child,
...

in debt to youth,
my fortune is exclusively
for descendants
that I have no relation to;
...

you are too delicate to hold
and I cannot live with myself
imagining the words you told
that struck me into someone else
...

the men who wish for more words
do not understand thought, or source:
their love is tasteless
and fuelled only by joy.
...

she wasn't permitted the chance
to a countdown in the womb;
darkness is an onslaught
fixed by the imagination,
...

where are the men
who refused to age?

let me see what words they ate
...

water in the stones
sanctions your reading
and you're so intelligent —
and much better off for it…
...

invent your enemies
before you have nothing
wage war on the solidarity
that you deem counterfeit
...