Nerves(A Cosmology)

Stars, shocks of heavenly synapses, enlighten.
We bend to their grave arrangement.

Darkness is the song.

Sages invoke eternity
in thrall to the neon din of modernity.

Magdalenes

I

Rouge bruised cheeks
under jaundiced
streetlights assure 

treasures swept neath  

night's thick shade.

Pudenda slack and
pocked as spat-out
gum flutter like

dissipated butterflies
out of ferrous cocoons.

II

An army of heels
conduct the siren song.

The music of night, 

its rapturous throb,
excites the content bourgeois
as darling little babes 

slumber neath clean white sheets.

Kynik Aktaion (Fragment from Memoir)

"What is living will only overcome the tumult of annihilation
in the ecstasy of creation."

Einbahnstrasse, Walter Benjamin, 1928.



My favorite hunting experience occurred as I was walking home
with my brother after scoring a few bucks. Our men cordially
carried the quarry. We ambled home along railroad tracks and
sparrows were twittering in the brush. Having more rounds gave
us a delightful notion. Why not annihilate those precious little 

birds with buckshot?

This experience lifted twin spirits upwards to the Olympian.
We became the Dioscuri. Dancing midst a cloud of feathers the 

spell of powder and shell disintegrated. The bowl of fate was in

our hands! Our bolts flew smiting songbirds to motes!

I thought of poetry and its flights. Annihilating song in tiny birds placed 

us past Poetry. From the Dioscuri to Apollo is but a step.

We shot death-dealing bolts. We were Gods. Are not our eyes
blue as steel, locks gold as Helios?

Thirst

I'm thirsty as dust.

Kiss me.
Sing love into clouds.

Let rain cleanse valleys
where columns rise
proudly.

Shut twilit eyes.