Messenger, I have chosen against the icons

Peaceful dismissive destiny I have chiseled on a charnel wall;
You would do better, forsaken torch, to report back to our
Persian lord that I, summoned I was as his herald, would
Now announce myself Apostate and thus summon to life
What only naked, antiquated madness would dare to
Immortalize in the limestone of exile.

Proximity sin - I claim the naked dimensional, the clear message
That's been on every train between Puglia and the Orkney Islands,
Trying hard to cancel itself out before it suffers the fate of icons.

I never wanted you dead, my messenger unto specific suffering. But I
See you have died, since I see you on display in the museum much
Vaunted by the city councilmen. And suddenly I'm aware of wine,
As I drop to the museum's steps drunk and crying.

Find more by Dennis Villelmi in the Author Index.

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