no other world for your dead light

fastestar you are broken the people of the city are writhing in sweaty immortality their enemies, all of your fantastic ways to die encamped in the surrounding dusty hills, exhausted of ideas they're eating up stray rats their cunning weapons have turned to dull stones. fatestar you are weakened yon child born into a gilded bucket from a throned, disinterested queen squirms and wheezes out his tuberculosis lungs while you know we all know the babe needs be to grow, to harden and callous, to die vaingloriously on the barren battleground of his lover's heart. fatestar you are the spoke now no longer the center fatestar you are the hangman's rope now no longer the old sacred oak for no longer do us junkies seek your face in nebula we seek forgetting we seek an obliteration tantric, excessive, careless we scalp each other and paint our brains white with moonlight. once, fatestar, once you sent us to die upon wooden beams silhouetted on the burning horizon, you trembled when we pressed our fingertips into the earth, you shone your brightness upon the decapitated heads tumbling down from atop our temples. now, fatestar, now we all look to the hills we all see the tornado of buzzards vortexing above your ruination no need to race into the desert to find your body no need for burying you no need to see the fattening death birds pecking at the meat of your eyelids no need for our hearts are become feral, for we will burn the sky away ourselves, we will satiate infinite hunger and ravage the motherly soil into a grey, brittle lifelessness, no need for we have robbed you of strength and with it we will rape and impregnate the universe with an eternal impermanence