Thursday, August 12, 2010

My soul dies before it.

They enter as animals from the outer

Space of holly where spikes

Are not thoughts I turn on,

But greenness, darkness so pure

They freeze and are.

O God, I am not like you

In your vacuous black,

Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.

Eternity bores me,

I never wanted it.

What I love is

The piston in motion ----

My soul dies before it.

And the hooves of the horses,

There merciless churn.

And you, great Stasis ----

What is so great in that!

Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?

It is a Christus,

The awful

God-bit in him

Dying to fly and be done with it?

The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.

The hooves will not have it,

In blue distance the pistons hiss.


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