Deus ex Aequitas

The center sits amidst a pool of throbbing gold
and seeks a freedom from the majesty around it
clockwork gears define an era based upon
selflessness –
        unequivocal absence of the self

and we are simple; never banal. Boring
does not exist as pertaining to me and I
am the most interesting person I will ever meet –
            if I ever meet myself.

The luster of a soul; can it be counted, weighed,
put upon a scale?
        Discretion is the better part of all things...
                except discretion.

1

And days later – I held it,
            the thing that you love.
        I held the thing that you crave
    and I held it and I grinned
        and I held the thing that you love
        and I looked into your eyes.
    I looked into your eyes, and the eyes
        of the thing that you love
    and I held it with solemn fingers
    unforgiving solemn fingers
    and I looked into your eyes
    as I held it, and grinned.

The wind did not change,
    because the wind has no master;
        no eyes to see that I held what you love;
            that you love what I held –
                    I grinned
    and my teeth were perfect – perfectly perfecter
        than your own and I held it,
        I held that thing you love in my solemn fingertips,
    and I ripped it apart –

invaded every orifice and held it
and held it in my indomitable control
and ripped the thing you love apart
with my solemn fingertips and grinned
and I left myself in the thing you love
and I invaded every orifice and I
    ripped it apart and I held it.
    I held it and left myself in it.

And for a moment – you were me
            and I was you
            and we were one.

            And we were one…

2

and this is my flesh – it will not scar –
and this is my blood – it will not stain –
and this is my mind – it knows you well –
and this is my heart – you know it well –
    and this is my divinity –
    and this is my innocence –
        and this is my God – he has no name

but if there is justice, he will punish you –
    and this is my truth.

3

I will find what has been lost,
        and I will draw it like venom
from the wound into my mouth and I will
    look to the thing that I love –
            that indomitable truth! –
        that miraculous glory! –
    and I will deliver to her what you once stole
    and I will feed her antidotes
        from a dazzling tongue
and you will know –
        you will know!
That the thing you love – that thing
                  I hold in
                 my dreams –
that thing you love is slowly dying;
    that torture – that thing you love
        can only fade before me
    and I will hold it,

                and I will rip it apart;
            whether or not you are watching
for I am a painter – a splendorous artist
    and the soul is my canvas – and that
        thing that you love/thing that you hold
            cannot scratch the surface
            of my reality – of my truth –
                my unconquerable love!

and this is my God -

    and this is my center
        and this is my center –
            it has no name
            except that she would give it.

4

And Jesu Christo gazed
    with vibrant eyes upon those
    who had trespassed and he stared
        at you as no God
        has stared at no man
                who had trespassed

and if there is justice –
        this is my truth –

He weighed the luster of your soul
    and stared and you and that thing you love
    stared and counted your worth

and if there is justice –
        this is my center –

And lo! Jesu Christo
    hefted the crucifix, and weighed
    your soul and counted your virtues
    and saw your shamelessness – and somewhere –
    that thing you love was slowly dying
                in the thing that I love

and if!
    if there is justice –
        and if there is justice –

    the Lord will never forgive you –
        as I forgive you -

and if there is justice –

5

the center nestles within me and quells
            in me my raging tempest.
    I am simple; never banal. The thing I love –
            that terrifying grandeur! –
        that divine absolution! –
    does not exist pertaining to you
        and so that thing you love –
        that exquisite agony –
                has slowly died in my solemn fingers.

And if there is justice –

                this is my God.

Comments

Desde debajo -

my god, Austin.

i particularly enjoyed 4... and 1. and 5, for that matter. I guess i didn't dislike any of it. I loved the line "and this is my God -- he has no name". It stuck with me for some reason.
in your long poem, the only thing that bothered me the slightest was the second line of what i think is your introduction. (the italicized part) What bothered me was that little "it" at the end. But maybe it's worded that way for a reason.
p.s. I love your work. We should meet up some time.

Aesthetic Psychosis -

Yes, please.

Let's say - four days? Three?

Alcuin of York -
First I had to figure out what in the hell the poem was about – not what it meant, merely what it was about. There is the speaker, a 2nd party and a 3rd party – that thing “you” love, “my God”, “my center”, perhaps identified with the soul and God simultaneously? The other party appears to be a would-be lover, who loves something: “that thing I hold in my dreams”; which makes it the thing you (the speaker) also love. Yet, it “cannot scratch the surface of my [your]...unconquerable love”. And so I conclude that this write is about differing interpretations of God.
Forgive my excessive literalism. I can’t help it. It’s just me. Some parts, like part 4 are easier to understand by themselves, others seem contradictory.
As for the rhythm – simply marvelous! I truly like it. And the message, while unclear, bleeds through like a blurred image, giving us a hint of what you’re intending, which is spiritually elevated. I think it’s been subsumed by the rhythm, and this is unfortunate – perhaps a characteristic of the times, or perhaps of the subject matter. After all, putting one’s apprehension of spiritual matters into human words is near-impossible. One can refer to God, but, as Meister Eckhart put it, “Whatsoever you say of God is necessarily untrue”.
Alcuin

Aesthetic Psychosis -

Well, Alcuin -

I'm glad you spoke up, because this gives me a good idea of the work the poem probably needs. It seems I was rather unclear as to its meaning - so I'll provide a brief breakdown (for the reader's sake).

Italicised: Sets the stage for the poem (thematic elements i.e. the center, absense of the self, luster)

1: The writer (or rather speaker) of the poem holds something that another loves, and rips it apart etc. The key to the stanza lies in its final four lines, where it is revealed that through doing so, the writer attempts to instill a connection between I and you - implying that the 'you' in the poem had done something similar to what the writer had loved, but that through doing the same to 'you,' the writer achieves one-ness with the aggressor.

2: The writer bares himself to the root of his pain - but shows that he is not afraid, for if there is justice - the aggressor will be punished. Nothing is left concealed from he who once ripped what the writer loved apart.

3: The writer swears to tend to the wounds of the thing that he loves, to draw from her the poison that the aggressor has used upon her, because in the end - the attacks of the aggressor pale before the machinations of the artist. The God with no name is revealed as his strength to conquer that which threatens that which he loves (consequently being that which the aggressor loves: the torture).

4: Judgment is given from the Lord to the aggressor, but it is revealed that the writer has forgiven him, as the thing within his love dies.

5: The writer is contented with his freedom from the aggressor - and realizes that through this separation, joy can be achieved - and that he has made his own God through forgiveness. A very Christian ideal, I suppose.

Perhaps this clarified. Perhaps it confused it further. I'm unsure.

Leanne -

I don't know about anyone else's readings -- including yours, Austin! -- but the overwhelming sense I get from this is innocence. It was innocence that stole/tore apart "that thing" -- recklessness, carelessness, these do not come from experience, but rather a lack of knowledge or understanding of consequence. I don't get any real sense of deliberation here -- if it was deliberate, there would not be such overwhelming remorse. At first I read this as changing perspectives, but in the end it seemed that he who does the deed also suffers for it -- in destroying something through his own innocence, he destroys his innocence as well. It is experience and understanding that begs for -- or demands -- atonement.

The first stanza is delivered with such wry wit that I almost miss it through the rest of the poem -- each section is well contained and none are weak, but the deprecation becomes closer to flagellation throughout and the progression almost hurts. The word play -- particularly in section 1 -- is excellent but I think you are skirting very close to overdoing it. If you're going to use so much repetition, I'd actually like to see a few more of the other phrases sprinkled in. A very minor thing, though, in a very fine poem.