Å

Å

Tower of Yabberwocky

 

She muted, man

she Muted the Babel;

climbed the tower

 

Ivory only reached

to the clouds

it was pitch

voideous

black, man;

 

beyond the blanket of fog

found

perfection in absorbing colour

 

perfect

is never perfect

enough

 

Building

sky scrapers

to reach

phallic heights

needing a Band

of Hope

travelling to peaks

like a heart beats spike

huddled into sterile

elevators

guided into studios

heaving, strumming and beating out pop, bubble bursting cheese;

a view in panorama

of our modern architecture

like fast food inspired art

between sponge-like monuments

launch

at the sky

so fast

the skin tear off the bones

falling off the tower

or beaten down by the
monstrously

robotic

taxidermi

King of the Forrest/Tower/Hill

falling de-volutional design burns into white canvas

cross of heretic christ burns into a holy mountain full of caves and volcanic pride

 

 wondering

if goddess is

androgynous

third-eye

of vision

of depth in sight

or a

branding of a perfect circle

with an upside-down

cross

at its base

wondering as the Yabberwock

eats

the knots of global babel

that could have riddled

in to

a new horizon