DEATH BY FIFTEEN BILLION RAINDROPS

Star cracking in the burgeoning void 
with my Hysteria shackled to my Stigmata
Unpleased in the grotto
with eyes like sharkskin and pentathol
poaching prisms with a gallery
of Days.

Cork smitten. the wine departs the cask.
Life in solution, like a savory vineyard of secrets
spelling your name in the last place
you were Believed In.
A torrent of existential Calligraphy
polishing papyrus and garum stains
on an anointed
cube.

a death by fifteen billion raindrops is not the purpose of the world.
it is not the synchrony of our oblivions howling at the Soon… as the Future; 
wretched-
recoils from our prayers 
like a mad adder
on a pearl.

It is 
not.