it dawned
from the half-bitten fruit,
this boorish serpent,
this inner foreboding
of flesh tingling tempted
out of frame.
sin takes to blood, the nail
sifting the flesh, birthing
the bells of the word
fracturing our silences
displacing the void into radiant senselessness -
this heart of Pilate
where once in front of
this purloined innocence
the temples crumbled to ash
of all beginnings
telling us all of our
preordained peccadillo,
unannounced wraith pouncing
on each to lurid each,
biting more from the world
and its land that remembers
the till of feet welcomed
by diadems of flagella,
love have we not, eternally?
no singing seraphs wept
as the afternoon erupts,
a fragmented word: love.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
it dawned
from the half-bitten fruit,
this boorish serpent,
this inner foreboding
of flesh tingling tempted
out of frame.
sin takes to blood, the nail
sifting the flesh, birthing
the bells of the word
fracturing our silences
displacing the void into radiant senselessness -
this heart of Pilate
where once in front of
this purloined innocence
the temples crumbled to ash
of all beginnings
telling us all of our
preordained peccadillo,
unannounced wraith pouncing
on each to lurid each,
biting more from the world
and its land that remembers
the till of feet welcomed
by diadems of flagella,
love have we not, eternally?
no singing seraphs wept
as the afternoon erupts,
a fragmented word: love.
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