Louder still from the choirof the Black Madonna, the treble linebeat blue with the drumming hauntsof incalculable betrayal, too devianta lie to unbraid. Even at my dreary ends,the lasts of me spread across 3000 seasons,I still got a bell built for humming, that hymn ofrepetition an infinite note to God. You thinkI worry about beauty? By design,I come back twice. Undeadimperium, the only idols I’ve got leftcan’t be seen. In a goodfinal silence, they ask mehow I’d like to return. If I’d like to return.I stay knowing the depth of the vessel belly,the ripe scent of flesh snipingat the soft of my eyes, the melon seedwedged in my tooth like a clove. I say yes,say, send me backto this very animus, thisendless fiction. Yes. I would rather be uglythan forget.