Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Who knows what forces serve you,
or what (if any) complex shaft drives
the incarnating chain engaged
around your gilded teeth.

Sprocket sun spinning,
sodden with formless beings,
ether bodies that drip and melt inside us…
eternal and fleeting, as time.

Here we are…the hollow spheres,
the little gods, scratching your vessels
with polished brass from
our collective chain gang.

Here we are… the stand-ins
let us wrestle our fate in unison
clinging and clanging our hands together
pretending the noise we make is pleasant.


Jill said...

vg. i love it. mystical.

Rae Pater said...

this is one of your best I think DQ