For dust was the first covenant
God offered unto man:
As we rise briefly into consciousness,
Then return unto the land.
And fundamentally, it is the terror
not death, nor grieving breath,
But the stellar bodies are ultimately fashioned
from the architecture of our death.
When Empires obey the body:
With hunger they wound and rot,
Beneath each parliament and cathedral,
Was once awaiting the revolution’s plot
We squander our years upon the invention of identity,
forging the illusion of permanence through the metallurgy of doubt,
only to descend once more into the impartial soil from which we rose;
as above, so below;
as within, so without.