|
The metal not quite striking in a spark
The metal not quite right
More like daylight
More like star light rushing into too little space
All that whiteness
And the bodies burnt black
Those seeking a grammar
Flee the smoke and fire
Jump their immaculate beings from the hundredth floor
Pirouetting into a kind of pre-position
To fall free To let go absolutely
Upside down in the delivery room
Hands clasped around a jack-knife knee
Slapped awake, born again
Heads up in an argument with the howling wind
Arms out, clothes flapping like wings
Fast forwarding the skin of yesterday
Waiting for that uplift, that god motion
All the lies once believed in
Too soft for this hard world no matter how much
|
