Content Warning: violence, death

West Ambrose – …to the Ekphora

rush ship                                              remain in imag(e)             

the soliloquy                                                                   [b]inary     

to a fr(e)ightened mouth:       silly dirge

what’s the point of Youth                                  sad  dirge

if all you do is Want

without satisfaction?                      The water-logged dungeons await

Give me the spiritual hymn                      someone like

of retail therapy; give me                 you;

the lover I cannot buy,

the lover that doesn’t                            Weren’t you going to overthrow a

want to own me. The                            monarch? Weren’t you weary and old–

lover I haven’t met yet.               Or young and weary, but felt too old to believe in such a thing?

                                                 In Italy I saw you. In Italy, where you shouldn’t have been–-

Place me on a high                              Didn’t you promise to walk behind him forever;

bed                                           Didn’t you make him a king?

Untouched

waiting for

someone draped in gold,

the broken crown,                  With Rough hands

the fictional shipwreck,    

the thief without his                            that cannot strike

charisma,

caption this                                                                     gold

“Sebastian,”

let them figure out    

which one,

let them fill in all the                                                    en pleasure;

cracks                                                                 lawless,

painted on the urn’s faces.                  symphonic…

Now, autopay the Devil

and split yourself in two;                                                         With the same wooden albatross

lover and beloved. Pluck the silk                   look how we die as

scarf too late— flesh burning as             strangers.