0 • Patchwork

Volume 10, Issue 03
April 19, 2024

This is a manifesto,
This is not a manifesto

Because I have named,
Created and embraced you,
Shaped, and given you form,
I can modify you.
I can distort, twist and tweak
Until you take on a form
All-together different
From the original.
But still, subtle shadows and
a faint imprint remain;
A void
Or a smudge that speaks of what was.
What started as the premature
incarnation of my ideology,
Through an iterative process
Starts to take,
A form more complete.
Mental sibilance made manifest.
The bastard of my desire
re-made, re-made and re-made.
I could not make you perfect the first time.
Where is the art in that?
Something birthed
With such facile ease
Would be the ugly parody,
Of a beautiful creature
Brought into being, through many
hard, strenuous hours of labour.

This is a manifesto,
This is not a manifesto

I touch your warm skin.
What secrets have here been whispered
My lover’s hands
Etch the scars
Tools have made.
Something old, something new,
Hammered out and fused.
Composite systems of
A life renewed.
I can feel the love
With which you were made.
Discordant soul
Of a vibrant heart.
What now remains in these
Dead cities
Voices felled and mute
To a generic Id.
Constructed as a quarrel with oneself
Does the silence
Ever Strike?
Fear, fear,
The rotten stench of parody
The safe haven
For the weak
I do not want you to rise
Your corporeal existence
Would be a parody
Far worse
I no longer need
To clad myself in your amour
For fortification
I do not need a marriage
Half formed
Nor the echo of false pretences
Rest where you are
I can smell the dawn
If I rest my fingertips
Just so, here against the glass
The sharp cut
Of cold new sensations
And then a gradual warmth
Turgid waters
A slit of dusty yellow light
Caught in the corner
I strike a line
Hesitant scratching
Dressed in red and divined in ink
Let the wind not take this yet
I am just starting my Love
Oh happy joy the impudent
And the promise of

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