Canto XXII
What lies beneath the German castle and what noble gas perplexes
disease? You would know, you say. And still you haven't found the
likeness in the hand that wrote Titus Andronicus with that of Malta's
Jew, odd. Nor drew the culprit practiced forth, when Elizabeth and Mary
stole their wonderful husbands' work. Neither do you tolerate the astute
that do.
Now the Eve approaches...for you to stand bare to what you are. Wanting
to know, you say, but only what does not disturb complacent comfort.
While the answers never moved far from your feet, even to scurry away
from your frown. And you've never tested the gap between your
thought and its essence to your soul. Even to be one with Gods. Lying
about pulsing sun vibrating earth to its core is the lie you can least
afford...just to hide the secret power you've discovered, that makes a
wave to oval surface. A wave to ride upon. While my vast engines will
shake you until you abandon one tune to try another. I, Maldanus, would
test this shroud you wrap yourself in to deny the Heavens.
The Suicide
The World is not my place,
she said,
The corners falling down.
And in some timeless attic way
The lace departs my gown.
My body zoned permits no frown
Still on with life I go.
The attic way, a lonely place,
My house for dolls that sin.
With hair uncut (to silence change)
Inside my vault I pace;
Unheard, the echo fades
And shatters my disgrace.
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