Let the feeble clowns of decadence
be torn asunder by their own decay.
May the mildest pigeons
become birds of prey.
All the empty cords move like light.
All the overflow of gnostic basements
clustering like snakes don't mourn.
Here is the devoured moon
in the hollow morning.
Here are the tragic players
what's left of them cartoonish
in its grim remainder.
Foul garments are torn
by freshness in form
substance comes up in seeds
to taste of death
beauty born in hellfire
is stronger than heaven's gold.
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