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Carlo C Gomez Oct 2022
Prelude of light
The sublimation hour

In this ruined house
Before meaning comes

(The world is full of
Abandoned meanings)

A slight grip, a gentle hold
And the trembling of glass

Circles of privacy
To shine, to hide, to cross

From the only window
Burning sanctuary
Heaven come crashing
The thicket is no sacred grove:

A chronicle of early failures
But within reach
Of future mistakes

Even the darkness has arms

Chris Saitta Jun 2020
From the first, the fluid-filled sacs of stars,
The yolk of yellow lightning and oily rain,
Then the placental storm, birth-giver of roads and oxen loads,
Witch towers made from silk hair and the peasant sucklings of plague,
Whelped there by the milk of the river Arno, by turns pacified or stern.

The Dark Ages is a storm nesting in the sky, built by posthumous stares,
Piece by piece, a raven’s birth from eyes and saliva of roads and rivers.
Of the woman who gave birth, the sway of leaves where once fell hair,
Only her lips hover in the air of warm sun,
Like a fountain in the bare palace courtyard
Suspiring, flowing, extolling…
As absurd or self-serving as it is, I shine a sun on my own poems because this site is broken; you can literally post something that no one will see, but every other post is seen.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Bleed a cold,
Starve a fever,
Pray the plague don't come
Looking for you, unbeliever.

Don't sneeze at disease,
Or stick yourself with an arrow,
Just stack your dead
In the wheelbarrow.

— The End —