TULA
The Death of Non-Existing Creatures
by MV Morales

a cry, perhaps, from the gods of Olympus:

come and taste a sense of nothing
come and seek the heart of the dying
come and believe the miracles of the living
come and learn the paradigm of being.

a soft, pale smear of color
spreads itself across your eyes:
a window of suppressed fantasies and folk-song lullabies.

to sing a dimly sounded melody
to sing an inertiaing echo
to sing the words of rhymed memory
while drinking kisses in dead monochrome
is to be with the dancing feet touching gaily
the green dew of this first morning,
as the birds blankly stare, their wings unmoving,

at skeletal butterflies on moldering senses,
black smoke drifting to crisp razor-blade heaven
that breathe all the scent of asphyxiating incense.

a cry, perhaps, from decrescendoing dreams shrieking:

come and taste a sense of everything
come and seek the flesh of the loving
come and believe the miracles of the wishing
come and learn the poetry of the fading

as the gods kill themselves,
(slit their divine, slender throats)
and let upon earth
(and divine, blue-veined wrists)
fall:

the corroding red lucidity
of innocent, dripping rain.