This Too

A golden chamber chrysalis,
Valley of my breath,

Chamber of death.
Dérèglement des sens

Means that nothing makes sense.
This preparatory step

Beside the foundation
Of semiotic cohesion.

What is the frame?
What is ten?

I'm Tower.
Trouble, Childe Roland,

My brother, darkness is all I see.
What is the sound of double,

Of one hand giving in?
Cringe-worthy reasons.

Nod your head,
Turn away,

These trumps
Are all I play:

Fate and
The Fool.

Foul wind:
Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate.

A festival for the nocturnal,
Desolation wilderness.

Beside the fire
I saw their faces,

I had the lover's kiss,
I saw the others look,

Playful and effervescent,
A golden chariot true,

Then only time exists,
And the passage of it.

Say hello to Wednesday again.
Johnny's Monday,

His words,
My jam.