What we were once, two words,
we are no more, taken in
When ten sticky layers absorb
the shadows of our predecessor shapes.
Purple bruises bleed through
the buried steel
Where one-hundred shouted
stories slid down into
a waiting mouth of obtuse angles.
Vague numbers now,
we follow, ask
Why one-thousand labors
couldn’t gird us against not-
birthing gusts, their reverse alchemy,
aching to prove
How countless precious lines
can turn testily from true
geometry’s parallel path, and seek
an improbable calculus of chaotic drips,
those splats that trace a figure
Who in the flash of flame
realizes his distinctions
have lavishly become
obliterated.
Our tomorrow will know
what our today’s forgotten.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
What we were once, two words,
we are no more, taken in
When ten sticky layers absorb
the shadows of our predecessor shapes.
Purple bruises bleed through
the buried steel
Where one-hundred shouted
stories slid down into
a waiting mouth of obtuse angles.
Vague numbers now,
we follow, ask
Why one-thousand labors
couldn’t gird us against not-
birthing gusts, their reverse alchemy,
aching to prove
How countless precious lines
can turn testily from true
geometry’s parallel path, and seek
an improbable calculus of chaotic drips,
those splats that trace a figure
Who in the flash of flame
realizes his distinctions
have lavishly become
obliterated.
Our tomorrow will know
what our today’s forgotten.
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