Whispers from Enoch (I)
If I’m deciphering a shy tongue
meant for angels, practicing beg thee
with human wheezes but a philosophy
less interpretation-friendly
than the language I have now to propose
my lack, display my own negative
lie confessions worse than the sin,
the prophecy I need will form
and the impact collapses a chest,
and the more profane my body
the less is considered wrong.
(Spiritus Mundi Issue 4: Mythos)
poems by nicholas alti 