Pendulum Womb (The Cousins of Scars)

a poem

Watch, my child,


As I enter the room, darkly.

Such beauty, compelled, adorned by mystery,

where light, by absence streams nothing,

and unborn urges ignite black reverence.


Watch, my child,

The chair, in darkness, awaits,

my sole friendship, a kindred crown,

whose lonely ether, breath of death, cools,

the lustful fury of permanence, unstated.


tick tock, tick tock

Come, my child,

Your hand in mine, thrilling.

Such beauty, by razor’s dreams fashioned,

by the end, beginning and by prelude, torn.

Flesh in flesh, we are the cousins of scars.


Share, my child,

 Your blood with mine, a copper nectar,

Exceeding mere utterance and words exhaled.

But red secrets, there possessed by drip and drop,

Immortal skins revealed, a pendulum womb, ticking.


tick tock, tick tock

Fly, my child,

Into heartbeat’s first pulse, delivered –

Into birth’s first star, ignited –

Into death’s first restraint, reborn –

Into chaos and the abrupt first sound – then nothing.


Sing, my child,

Soft notes, filtered by scars honored in blood.

By songs of children, writ,

too close, the fire’s trinkets, embers grow.

And so, it begins in bliss and pain.

 Watch, my child,

 As a step into black and upon white, I rest.

The chair, unmoving, simply framed and strong,

Embraces four, body and universe joined.

Here, foretold, revolutionary tick and echo tock.


tick tock, tick tock

Feel, my child,

The sweeping brush of the pendulum lord,

Whose long reach cuts across time and remorse,

With scars on cousins bequeathed in birth,

A bloodless womb, we begin with a cry.

tick tock

The End

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