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Literature Text
The Weight of Wordless Prayer
I heard it first
the delicate sound of disaster
and the desiccation of dying as the first fell
in unforgiving imitation of the rain
I stood silently, hands raised to heaven
but could not catch a single one
pale stars passing, intimate until even
then only the anonymity of distance
and the speed of weight and shape
My heart caught the rhythm
a simple stutter in imitation whisper
then faster to the patter of bones and blood against the ground
below
beating to match the fall of bodies
until it burst and bled
til bleeding came burning
and I could not bear to stand
I bent my legs, broke my lips
and breathed out smoke in prayer
the thickening issue of my consuming heart
wet wavering tongues licking at my lungs
keeping me from breath and sleep and dream
I laid for three days and burned
a paper lantern against the sky where they fell
berries withered by summer sun
There was only the pillar of smoke
and the taste of ash and blood
without pause or promised end
On the third day from the smoke
emerged a red winged bird
feathers, fire, and diamond eyes
It stood and beckoned
bended neck round as pitchers pouring
to carry me finally home
I stood and swallowed
my tongue and ruined teeth
reached into the fire
and pulled myself into the flame
It raised its head simply as sunrise
unrolled its wings, swept through the stars
into the distance between heaven and here
In distance there is no time, only burning
and the slow motion of stars against a sky that does not break
I woke the midst of golden glory
gates and a garden wall
to keep the dead from seeing
But we were through golden gates
into the city in the sky
past the lines of mumbling mad
stuttering equations of indefinite divinity
amongst themselves
Inside ranks of angels waited
humming haunted harmonies
aching with the complexity of perfection
and the purity of immaculate construction
seeking to find flaw, and know the joy of falling
We passed pairs of priests playing chess
and checkers, arguing who should be black
this time around
into the center of the city
to the temple in the city
where the Madonna held her child
a curled black comma against strict lines of stairs
crying softly to herself
afraid of letting go again
into the temple, piercing the transparent skin of God
like crossing water to slow and set softly down
I stepped against the holy floor
and the bird collapsed to ash
Here
where the air held motion for a moment
a memory of where I had been
Here, where god was
if god was to be anywhere
Here, the concentration of being and belief
Here, the sense of attention
focus for the boy with the dissolving bird
I spoke but had no tongue for definition or division
no method but my hands
to describe the descent of the dying
There was only my charred heart
and the weight of my wordless prayer
I took them in my hands
and knelt to press them against the heart of god
then bowed and turned and left
leaving them to be understood
if only incompletely
I heard it first
the delicate sound of disaster
and the desiccation of dying as the first fell
in unforgiving imitation of the rain
I stood silently, hands raised to heaven
but could not catch a single one
pale stars passing, intimate until even
then only the anonymity of distance
and the speed of weight and shape
My heart caught the rhythm
a simple stutter in imitation whisper
then faster to the patter of bones and blood against the ground
below
beating to match the fall of bodies
until it burst and bled
til bleeding came burning
and I could not bear to stand
I bent my legs, broke my lips
and breathed out smoke in prayer
the thickening issue of my consuming heart
wet wavering tongues licking at my lungs
keeping me from breath and sleep and dream
I laid for three days and burned
a paper lantern against the sky where they fell
berries withered by summer sun
There was only the pillar of smoke
and the taste of ash and blood
without pause or promised end
On the third day from the smoke
emerged a red winged bird
feathers, fire, and diamond eyes
It stood and beckoned
bended neck round as pitchers pouring
to carry me finally home
I stood and swallowed
my tongue and ruined teeth
reached into the fire
and pulled myself into the flame
It raised its head simply as sunrise
unrolled its wings, swept through the stars
into the distance between heaven and here
In distance there is no time, only burning
and the slow motion of stars against a sky that does not break
I woke the midst of golden glory
gates and a garden wall
to keep the dead from seeing
But we were through golden gates
into the city in the sky
past the lines of mumbling mad
stuttering equations of indefinite divinity
amongst themselves
Inside ranks of angels waited
humming haunted harmonies
aching with the complexity of perfection
and the purity of immaculate construction
seeking to find flaw, and know the joy of falling
We passed pairs of priests playing chess
and checkers, arguing who should be black
this time around
into the center of the city
to the temple in the city
where the Madonna held her child
a curled black comma against strict lines of stairs
crying softly to herself
afraid of letting go again
into the temple, piercing the transparent skin of God
like crossing water to slow and set softly down
I stepped against the holy floor
and the bird collapsed to ash
Here
where the air held motion for a moment
a memory of where I had been
Here, where god was
if god was to be anywhere
Here, the concentration of being and belief
Here, the sense of attention
focus for the boy with the dissolving bird
I spoke but had no tongue for definition or division
no method but my hands
to describe the descent of the dying
There was only my charred heart
and the weight of my wordless prayer
I took them in my hands
and knelt to press them against the heart of god
then bowed and turned and left
leaving them to be understood
if only incompletely
Literature
Mayfly
-
When we were mayflies our wings were
worn from wire screens, but the tentative
beats of your belly chimed like iron.
And it occurred to me that through
the breeze of burning leaves our eyes
were open to wasps and weeds.
-
Literature
ride on the underground
hunched creature rattling:
a snake in a rat-trap
shrieking like a banshee it
throbs along a thick tunnel
licks the curving walls away
sweating against them, eats
through gravel, wormlike—
skeleton bones howl and snap:
taca-ta-taca-ta-taca-ta
spitting through a dank fissure
clenched to ranks of tracks.
inside, hanging people shudder
swaying together, knocked
like stones in a tumbler;
old arthritic bones
cracking and twisting
a cold metal body.
Taken from the shambles of 'The Weary Menagerie' this has taken me a long time to get just right. In some ways I feel like it's still lacking a little, but it's finally in a finished place and I wanted everyone to see it, because ultimately I'm proud of it.
© 2003 - 2024 epimetheus
Comments14
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This is the perfect definition of " brilliance"......
I am stunned.
I am stunned.