Saturday, January 13, 2024

The storm has its sinews
and nerves of ultraviolet
glued to its radiant underbelly
the gelatin of its captured lightning

forked paths of empty space
blanking through ethereal doorways
at the threshold of a detailed dream

wings are insectoid in a folding brain
laid out on the hum of a restaurant table
stranded by driven feet
vibrating still in its fluorescent frost
its days and nights entwined in fallen ages

stun me with metallic spirituality
send me over a crystal wall
with the prod of death
shock the marrow from me with song
voracious God.

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