raw

Darkness is the blood vessel of the soul 
We are not beauty 
We are masks 
Floating in a sewer of consciousness  
Ugly, and eternal 
The new bible will come 
Between incense and bullets 
Cutting rapidly 
Through the age of schizophrenia . 
For all this I declare  
By blackest sun  
To all living things . 
In the aeons to come 
That I am the specimen of the golden age 
I am the future  
And I am coming 


Ritual Poetry 1-16