The Ape Dictates


No words. My tongue is broken. Chattering through painted teeth. Who is the real ventriloquist? The ape dictates. A phatic clash of cymbals. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Jeweled grimoires abandoned at the bottom of the sea. The ape dictates. Speaking in tongues. Futile rhythms pounded out, flattened and twisted – extruded into a frantic dance on the edge of the volcano.


Take someone else’s words as your own. Love is the Law. Love under Will. All aphorism reduced to dead weight as the event horizon draws near. The dilated black spot of my pupil painted on a wooden eyeball. My lips curl back in disdain but still and on I clash my cymbals together. Lost an ear in a knife fight with the other freaks. I am relentless.


The angel pressed its finger to my lips to ensure the truth would remain secret, thus I am mute. My jaw is a bone through which others speak. A Delphic vessel. My lips are sealed. I am the ape and I will be obeyed.