ANATHEMA In Four Parts by John Lopes at

ANATHEMA In Four Parts

ANATHEMA in four parts

written by: John Lopes




I am
by insignificance
among mortals
embracing invisibility
from vision of man

I abscond the wallen garden
of bedroom walls into the falling evening
away from muted unmovable air,
to the retreating noise of the city

    Out here in the daytime 
    uncertainty is a stench,
    brings their stare

Night falls to the horizon embracing
creeping hours inching forward as
tendrils of time stretch that other living plane,
audacious shadows grow

    Out here
    they only come at daybreak
    when skin standing on end and
    panicked pores spilling sweat
    can be heard telegraphing the mute
    scream in my chest 



The machinery of night begins its

A choir of buzzling power lines
above gabled roofs chatter,
buzzing otherwise drowned
in daytime’s traffic

Gossiping street chandeliers burn
tiny arsons of light unloading daily
grievances caught in their mouths,
they lift cleft palates and worries
come crawling pattering on pavement,
eyeing me between movements
in roach jolted drive
obfuscated by the outskirts of midnight
etching seconds into concrete
counting out the night

Phone booths
lodge ever-watching spiders
gazing beyond webbed tapestry
of night with eyes open towards the
vast darkness,
observing trespasses upon this plain

    Out here in the daytime
    I unravel beneath ravenous eyes
    while mute mannequins pale as morgues 
    master disguises in shop windows
    remaining insignificant among masses



From anemic gutters
I gather the broken,
their limbs amputated by daylight’s
false shrapnel intentions disguised as jade,
encrusted in jewels and gold

Beneath bridges
kings preside over architectural
monoliths of underpass columns,
makeshift cathedrals welcome the
shattered to sepulcher,
while the humming blacktop above drones a
welcome prayer to the funeral pyre wreckage

The fire will be fed,
the names inscribed on walls
before daybreak shanks the nocturnal
splitting its flesh open pouring out secrets



The fire of day crawls first from
the chin of Avenues
cutting the city East/West
clawing upwards between buildings,
vaulting roofs.
Its lashing tongue burning out
street chandeliers and sacrificial flames
in the shadows of buttresses
holding up the night

In the crucible,
morning jackknifes the throat of night
stabbing through the fissures of dream state

    In the morning light,
    the sidewalks are a cobblestone
    bleached by the morning flash,
    towards the moat dug around
    the shelter of my bed

    Sheets heavy as lead shelter me
    from sun’s fission
    piercing through windows,
    its mark seared into the backdrop
    behind my eyes

In sleep I chase fugitive fragments of recollection
into an abyss of dreams,
away from nightmare visions of daytime.

Doors open to where vague memories reside,
before light radiated paranoia

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