Closure Revisited
by Odin Roark

I held you aloft,
even as you tried to boil life down to God-inspired perversity,
lashing me to the mast of your storm drenched Succubus
of dark angel pleasures ratcheting up
your windmill of puscasious delirium
for what you later called, "a venal cleansing."

Awash with the residue of your shard-encrusted brine and slithering lies,
you led a Cyclops army of deception,
who with needle-eyed centaurs,
roiled the thunder-laden blitzkrieg
upon my padded bunker of gauze veiled tenuity.

When did you conspire to inflict cardiac tattoos
upon life's cave of hieroglyphs,
man's grotto of submerged etchings
and cacophonic echoes of the past?

How far back in your debaucherous wake
did the cream on your crafted pie spoil into
a maggot infested elixir?

You and the madness of your lair dared to playact with sanity,
to brazen your way into my flicker-housed sanctuary,
orchestrating the venal hum of locust wings
to obliterate the acoustics of my inner sound stage,
where Eisenstein, Wells, Fellini, and Godard
wove my darkness into a solemn ancestry
of digitized archives,
my images of solace.

As the hemorrhaging engulfed what little solitude was left,
you wallowed in convulsive dance behind the hidden walls
of your mustard-green madhouse of scorched wormholes.

And all for what?

So dare not try and infect my Louvre of reborn images
with further seepage of your breeched waste.
Know that my pastels are now fortified against your orgiastic indulgences,
my Socratic inspired synapses cling steadfastly to the Sartre lullabies of reality,
keeping forever the hope that you'll never infect another's smile,
that no one will ever again lie next to your molten dawn of slumber's trickery,
that its mud-honey taste of gelatinous mass will never lure another
into the primeval ooze of your tar pit legacy.

Know your war drums are muffled,
your gender-based insurgency stifled,
your psycho drama now behind the blood-drenched
curtain of a long ago final act.

Be not shocked by this awakening.

Have I told you how delicious it is to dream of your bullfrog glower
upon hearing the final decree handed down through the calmness
of an all female jury?

And so you know,
even as you tried to vandalize the poetry of my redemption,
its integrity was sequestered in the forever-ever of my muse.
enduring your deliberate and repeated attempts at mind-rape.

So…

If ever again you attempt another duplicitous presence,
beware the evil beneath your mask has finally been revealed, judged
and sentenced to the remote isle of extinction.