Fissure

Six days after,
seven stars grew
huge & brutal
in the sky; the raven
appeared, gargling
something in
English I do not
understand. The limbless
cherubim began
to swarm & attack
my face.
The heavens belched
forked lighting
& I hid in the crook
of a hill blasted
by their wrath.
Forgive me I have
asked too many questions,
planned for futures
that will never be.
I must walk more
softly.  I must shred
my many lists.  I must
learn to be affirming
to gods even
as they savor my frost
bite & windburn.  I must pray
to them to end my torments,
close up this fissure &
finish the crush they've begun.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Philosophical Infant

Nourishment is like to like, children of goats & wolves & the world can feed the mewling babe, subsisting together in one form...