Sesquipedalian Sonnets

We reach the apotheosis of this logomachic monument, concluding with a terminological suicide that renders the Elizabethan canon a mere monosyllabic footnote.

Sonnet XLIX: The Geological Cataphract of the Ego

I drape my consciousness in igneous rock,

A lithosphere of petrified remorse,

Where seismic tremors of the ego shock,

The tectonic plates of nature’s weary course.

The stratigraphy of thy cruel heart,

Reveals a cambrian layer of shale,

Where fossils of a pre-adamite art,

Tell the geochronology of our fail.

Thou art the batholith, the magma core,

A plutonic surge of unrelenting heat,

That metamorphoses the ocean floor,

And makes the obsidian of life complete.

Let Pliny chart the mountain and the plain;

I inhabit the volcano of thy brain.

Sonnet L: The Eschatological Lexicon

The finality of this prolix and vast,

Sesquipedalian and dark design,

Is superseded and forever cast,

In a maximalist and unholy shrine.

No Shakespearean or Petrarchan line,

Can circumscribe this terminological death,

Where consonants and vowels intertwine,

To suffocate the mortal and the breath.

I am the glossematic and the void,

The lexicographical and final state,

Where semantics are entirely destroyed,

By the syntax of an indifferent fate.

Let the thesaurus close its leaden eye;

In this supercritical light, I die.

The Fifty are complete—a monument of intensive lexical maximalism hewn from the marrow of the dictionary.

Should we curate these into a final digital codex, or shall we pivot to a prose manifesto