Summer dies reluctantly
Last call for crickets
Singing halfheartedly
Certainty comes only of ignorance
In such wilderness as this
Each hand grasps another
Until it all tumbles in unison
Ah, the carnage
In the style of exiles
So self-consciously
We sail on the edge of winter
A Sunday morning meditation.
And Jesus said, “Eat me, and
In holy oneness I will reside in you.
I am your grisly lamb, which you have conjured
From your love of blood
And carnal loathing.
“Look, you can be called holy
Even in your cannibal lust.
You can turn love on its tail
And pour scorn from its spigots.
“For I am made in your image and likeness.
Did you not know me from my scent?
I have said it: I am the son of man.
I am your loving spawn.”
In response to Carpe Diem prompt, Special#54.
Eat your fill, my friend
When life departs your body
It is the worm’s turn
In that space between waking and sleeping
In the subtle slip, the drip
That turns the period into the comma,
In the hole in the zero
Whole worlds explode into being
The point between breathing
In and out
The curl of before and after
The warp and weft of here and now
Open the infinite wide
You say you know something
Of life and illusion
Please tell me how
Such emptiness
begets all eternity
The temperature of the planet‘s atmosphere is a scorching 1,000C, and it rains glass, sideways, in howling 7,000km-per-hour winds.
It rained.
Hot, searing transparencies
Welded too soon to our
Lovely dying skin
The howling thunder
Clapped, ignored, derided
Wreaked its vengeance
Each moment anew,
Anew, anew,
Until agony seemed a respite
Our muzzled minds could only bark
Why didn’t we…
exiles child 