Day of the dead
Open skies,
and trembling soil.
We are here,
though we refuse to arrive
at the end of days.
Life’s cup
is pouring hot lava,
steamingly,
atop the flaming bushes.
Revelation is underrated.
Life is overrated -
this pinnacle of irremediable shamelessness!
Let us stuff our minds,
with sacramental wine.
Let us pour their blood
on the graves of the martyrs.
Bow not, centipede world!
Bow not to thy makers
of stages!
Recklessly you wear thy mask
among transcendental faces,
remorselessly you pray
to be spared.
The wheel shifts
by the minute,
aimlessly condemning
the guiltlessly responsible.