Friday, December 06, 2013

Abattoir Static

Even in the labyrinthine vats of rat shit broth,
you make your stand.  You are a pine
holding the keys to a keyless kingdom,
standing somewhere on a platform of
vegetation impossible, so close to the sun's hold

They move you along in engine boxes,
from one wrong place to another, you keep
a grin stuck to the torch, the molten features
that followed us out of the womb, from lips
through the forest we seek, a surging
metal-tugged nightmare of beauty touchable

music stands sprouting with scented needles,
carved rivulets between trees trembling,
trembling because we are alive with the same
tail-symphony, corroding memory because
to remember is only a mushroom from the nucleus,
impacted forgetfulness,

We rise from the hills, behemoths who fenced
our cow-eyed understanding,
when we were only human,
before and after we looked down
the blown tunnel of our making
fields singed for sky-eyes
foot-beats of our solemnity disintegrated into song.

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