Most often a trap and a deception, a word can also be an act of creation And the careful repetition may bring into being new modes of existence.
This is my litany Against things small and dumb And the gods of Stasis and Hubris But for the Word that Makes This is my word made flesh, my cry and rage My endless speech that strives to create
This is my recitation The stubborn logos that pulsates and grinds
Here is my repetition Of insult, filth, fantasy and love That calls into being the trigger The transcendence that'll reveal itself out of the roar This is my word made flesh, my cry and rage My kingdom of words that always fail
This is my invocation My statues carved from stone of silence My secret whisper in the dark Which I'll lay waste to with my tongue My hieroglyphic prayer and chant For all that is true and high and bright
