Disturbia

Disturbia, the black branched darkness is reaching towards me. I witnessed jacaranda petals scattering to asphalt in spring night winds. An extravagance of nightfall stars. Snowdrops blooming after storms. Descension again, I sink into silence and stillness. The strangled angels know fulfilled desire is a fleeting victory. Like the gleaming blade of an airborne knife, traveling light from thundering cars reaches my eyelids—a scar to my fragile and disturbed irises. Decapitated spring wildflowers, roadside animals returned to ash, starlight battered on sidewalks: the divine falls to silence. Appetite, the rapture of Carthage, I am petrified in time like an ancient resin beauty trapped in amber. Madonna of the dark roads, these are seasons of atrophy. The glory! of devouring! I abandon all I ever loved. It’s a frozen inferno, the antarctic blankness of this existence, with the cold clarity of interstellar plains. The past is a burning wilderness I do not visit. My vespertine being in fissures—you arrive, this whisper of vital life in my lungs — and I am weightless for an instant. I witnessed a universe in flight for desire. Each cataclysm is a sacrament. Creature of the stars, your beauty shatters me into remnants of myself. Night lightning disfigures the cloud cover. A shadow theater: the moon rises for the pageant of evening, begging for witnesses. Disturbia, the black branched darkness is reaching towards me with its epiphanies.