Saturday, October 24, 2009

Coals for the Samovar of History

while loneliness quivers
with being. The sun plies
the ripple with conjecture,
the wind with quarrel,
the shimmer with
quarantine, while plumes of question ask,
if frosting can be revoked once they've eaten
all the cake, if telescopes
can resolve childhood, if microphones
can amplify memory. Coals glimmer with messages
of warmth and
death, samovars of tears, parades
of fossil music,
letter bombs
of acid reign.

There are pills for almost everything,
and we caulk much while waiting
for eloquent mushrooms, and bulldozers
with human skin.

When the invasion comes,
books will be thumbed
like sex acts --- only truth

Guaranteed emptiness,
the commute will be free
to last forever, where
trespass is history,
and war remains

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