Saturday, November 17, 2012

Words and names, the letters that are sovereigns

Words and names, the letters that are sovereigns
of the breath of men. The rising, awesome yell
of the ocean and the valley, the furious hell
of volcanic supremacy. I wander the foreign

languages without direction, I have to assign
a sound to a thing. I have removed the shell
of the seed, the skin of the fruit, and the bells
of a church are sounding. In the falling rain

she cries and is alone. The wandering spheres
accelerate in their orbit, white light bathes
her body in a confused meaning. Now she wears

the heavens as her veil, the decadent maths
of a mystic as her perfume. The texture tears
as the thunder's sound reminds me of death.

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