Monday, July 25, 2011


there in the neptune of the sky

a thousand women circle with their hands in each other's
and together, as one, they squat and urinate on the earth
there, where the equality of a thousand men prepare themselves
and each shit into a copper plate
offering a burning sacrifice to the heavens
saying: hey, we are feelings
we are food for the gods
hunting for the sweet eggs
becoming mirrors in that great green grasping silence

that was the age of anguish
where the forlorn philosopher fed himself a rail
it was only the flicker of thirsty yellow lights that called to him
and bathed him in their mellow arm
so sleep came into the caves of thought
furnishing all with a single scarlet mask of death

it was for the fingers
a separate love for each digit that wandered alone
in between the clefts of flesh
digging for water
or whatever else

it was for the fingers
swatting at black flies who are bloated on death
the only natural death left in this
the age of passwords
speak me a shibboleth

they left for me two red pennies of unlucky virtue
and the skeleton of a sparrow not yet dry
but moist with the limitless nutrition of angels
it is june and it has been raining for days
my dog looks up to me from between her regret
I feed myself a rail and continue

s. sparling

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