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Narrative poem in three cantos. |
Canto I The hours cracked by the sliver screen Life in a screen, Sounds in a package in the dust And attics, Action in the front Eye glazed and red and time Spinning and twirling Time spinning past me And I stood, And I walked Away from the board of needles Board of duties, board of friendly static Into another air current. A friendlier one (Without people) and the dark and solid coldness fake walls. Sweat of life Heat of fire Heart of fine metals Purifying waters, A shower. Stumbling For flesh is weak, Into the box, stumbling Purifying waters. Disintegrate This into great (Not now, please) Falling between the cracks, Into the drains Soul into water Soul in waterfall Loss of self. Canto II I fell as rain onto a isolated forest community, And I watched and felt the moisture through the glassy, smoky screens Children dashing from my tears. And there were two boys, One dark, one light Who played in the rain without care I wanted to run to their homes and embrace their parents. And there was an old woman in the cottage, And her smile was of the cold moon. She handed me a kitten, And I caressed it gently and quietly For it was her soul, And soon it would become hard and an opal, And I would shatter it over the waste like a plate. With the oath of the vision of the end carved into my chest, Parched with thirst I was; I am homeless again, And we leave. Canto III The thorns gave birth to nettles And the nettles gave birth to wire, And the wire was everything And nearly kissed the ground But I was being birthed through it. I was crawling in the poisonous baptism The filthy rite to an unheard plain To discover and hear a snatch Of song A single note which may bestow The skin and flesh upon me. I crawled With the kitten, which was her soul And I dirtied it as I laboured Under the sinful filigree and Blood pointed sparks. I was birthed: And yet I was still disunited in the foreign plain The guns were beating and bleating, And I was away and afraid, And the horrid delicate infrastructures, The light bird bones: Crushed by my doing. I put down her soul And crouch in the dirt For a drop of water. |