Glossolalia: 2022

High-tech terminus: Anxiety descending. All territory Is marked. Communion Is not possible Anymore; only fractured Speech proliferates In garish virtual worlds. I see no angels. I can only hear the strange Cacophony of These disembodied voices. Black dogs of decay Devour the green of summer. Broken galaxies Of longing, pulsating with Wounded stars, cannot Be redeemed. Lazarus will Not rise from the dead Again. Pleasures recede In the sty of meaningless Rituals. Even Streams of silvery visions Implode in the taut, Metallic night, as I try To dredge up the Light That is buried deep within My tenebrous soul. The fatal hour is drawing near.