Mars Selbstbildnis

That marble cast cacophony,
bleeding mind of Mars’ portrait.
Ten cuts from Otto, ceaseless face
and borderless teeth, Schädel and
Able both victim of its own creation
and raper by its own temptation.
Purple and red set the canvas,
showing us how fog draws itself.
Bottomless abyss of bordered
chaos, with rules of spurring chaos
and rioting borders, how softly we
fell, to the butter hands of peace’s
embrace, sculpted nymphs of some
foreign hand.  Far away woods of
templed hemlock groves, like my
succouring, unscorched from war,
gave hymns to the night and reason
to the plight.  All those soldiers,
heads so full of broken glass, I
can merely suppose on their likeness,
their creation that made their second
creation, looking back at itself.


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