I am the phoenix

(proudly blurring lines between weirdness and boredom since 2004)

I am the phoenix (previously unreleased excerpt)

I am the phoenix tonight. I rise from the ash into the light. Evanescent and intransigent, my aura is smoke and incense, split between the perfect geometry of stars, mixed through the last particle.

Do not fear; I have come at last. You were promised—I will take you on my shoulders.

You were warned it would be me.

Listen to the talk below, behind the closed doors of the sordid inn. Sprawling limbs soak up spilled ale. Men in soiled coats listen for the end of the world.

It has taken much to come together, but this will last forever. We look into our innermost reasons, and we are set on fire. Around insane beggars and destroyed egos, we come to cleanse. To be reborn.

But we fail to respond. There is an indecision. I am stolen.

All I can promise is sympathy, not action. For now I am weak, but I will be strong again.

I hear the call every day, but I forget; I lose myself in its clarity.

The poisons are many, and the antidote is a fiction—it cannot be found. We dissolve ourselves into waters surrounding the mountain; we slave in dark anonymous caves. But there is not futility able to keep at bay the phoenix.

I rise above.

This is not the end of days, though night does fall, and the logic of blackness is
smothering.

We dress for the moment; we are ready at the moment’s notice.

Into infinity we charge on silver lightning, into the end of cause and effect, of unfeeling order, to the breach between world and dream.

“Stop the smallest man forever from lunging after death!”

We are conceived in a quicksilver flash—and I am the phoenix. I am the exploding sun, and the red and white light is blinding.