Toward Iconoclasm

This first legitimate taste of truth,
a scant sip from nectar's vein,
sates not, but stings.

You, who are lotus of flesh,
who are nectar of blood,
blood of aubergine hue,
you, in your giving of gifts,
play Siren, Scylla, and saint.

Yon Doppelganger:
     as Lazarus, in your solitude sleep;
     as Midas, ruin whatever you may touch;
     as Pilate, cruciate pain bestow;
     and as Eros, let your arrow go.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, February 5th, 2009)