Service of Tenebrae

by Aidan Andrew Dun

sot1


And someone said:
Give me twenty-six
lead soldiers:

I will initiate
a military order
of creation.

Brutal separation
of the source and
the expression

Will bring the
word-song to an
untimely end.

Each syllable
will be called up
and conscripted

Will belong to
the territorial forces
of convention.

Each will be
appropriated by a
powerful dialectic

Utterly devoid
of metaphor
the dangerous one

Which leads a man
to live sufficiently
inside.

And gentle tongues
which have never
been scratched

Will be extinguished
and unspoken
one by one

And what has not
been written will not
have been said.






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