to the infinite dark
dragging chains and bells.
Scarred by runaway cities
a plaid sky folds up
the neon vulvas
and phallic
filing cabinet towers.
God's fingers move
like snakes on the grey abyss.
Bright veins of electric light,
all the leaning dams
where I slept.
Bulbs cracked by cold
in a winter's soil
tarnished pans of clear
translucent blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment