The Magician

machines tube lines of fractured glass through the bones of a magician
satiety inflates his displaced conscious into the jaws of a psychic void,
which destroys; he breathes soul shaped enigmas out through his eyes

humming molten metallic regret, the machines cage their fearful limbs
they watch passively as their creators combust into shards of insanity
flashing strings of scarlet guilt, they bubble and dissolve, unmaintained

standing, the magician crawls through liquid concrete, hunting for gold
he ignores the vertical huffs of smoke trickling out from his machines
instead he sieves through rock; but he falls, into an abyss, to emerge sinless

the magician watches the overcast sky birth blind Ravens onto tilted treetops
they fall to the earth and peck at the flesh of molested women; sipping blood
they eat their glassy eyeballs, instead choking on wands of indiscrete magicians

the magician sits inside a square balloon and reels films of the future
watching around cigarette burns, he vacantly folds his form into a reel
the film plays its secrets to the vacant walls; reality flickers, and burns.