Wednesday, December 28, 2011

manuscript fog

Yesterday’s brilliant sunrise,
and today your heart turns to magma.
Glass melts to liquid, which hardens into stone.

I've fallen seventeen stories.
Woke up in a cathedral, in France,
under an in-situ ceiling.
Samuel said, “leave nothing to chance,” as if it were a person.
but no- it is a force: forks, twists, pulls together, and tugs apart, with no discernible reason.
Metal wedges against itself, but does not rupture.

The kaaba which we have been in worship to was fetched by Elijah,
bursting into a knot of neon flame.
A fragrant ascent, in Arabia.

Yesterday's brilliant menagerie
gives way to today’s cemetery
of desert-bones.

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