Friday, February 12, 2010

Abhorrent Vacuum

Cyclops 294

The deeds of sacred mongrels produce these images
The fate of citizens hangs in the balance
The street thirsts for the long blood of a growling god
And the Queen’s graceful toil, bruised and cunning, is as good as gone.

A fool is always left hanging
The gate of hell is lined with them
As if some excellent hand made a fire then
Sent round for a laughing boy or two
To make images of the helpless, the handless and the deathless.

Straightaway, I heard you say, on that day
When born of immortality
You walked away and became

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