*
To those whom the gods would undo: they told the truth
Was “gnarled but glowing like embers embedded in the ground”
How unseen, the old view, how crude and indescribable
The vast bay window costing NASA an arm and a leg
To see what they could see. Up north there are more dark days
*
Than ways through them, a thick skull buckling in the cold
Blooded riverbed, a winded depressive who’d kill
To pay rent, the indiscriminate expansion of everything
Under the Sun: all become one / who could’ve been
An astronaut. The unearned wonder, the succor, the loss
*
I’m convinced that we were—all of us—fireflies
In previous lives, and while the blue faded the filament
Hung on. But not ‘til we are buried are we bulbs
Redundant: don’t think of wings as obsolete, but novelty
Whose roots bloom black and bottled messages
*
Read: Save me from myself… To all those the gods
Would burn out: they lent flame, and watched
Panoramic cliques corrupt the wicks of troubled teens
Da Vinci’s first angel, Descartes’ wax-and-wasp-infested gown
To these delicates, we dedicate: threadwaste, threshold
*
And who do you propose may have pressured the free
Object’s fall? Thus mocked the anchor tied tightly
To the anchoress—tossing and turning down the path
To enlightenment: dream your way back through the valley
Of the shadow, mind the weather, remember who you are
*
A mythological figure: come hell or high water, full circle or color,
The hook that would catch your attention, reader—the link
“Appearing broken” in a chain of events, viz. an outstretched hand
On the suicide bridge—the moral man would serve, he put to words—
A kid again, bearing an eraser at the point of no return.
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