Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Morning Dog

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Cyclops 326

Shove us into legendary times
Take us to the dead castle of golden words
Plunder our holes
Lead us to the beautiful waters of sorrow
Where the ark is landed on the bank
And part of a scene in which the
Drinking fingers depart the holocaust, two-by-two
And find their way into the world.

Show us the evangelist’s concern for the horror of race
And burnt figure of the moon, lovingly rendered and depicted
By a picture in the devil’s waiting room
Our moment robbed by fantasy
And lost in the field of wrath but dimly
Remembered in an instant of richly hated history
Being carried forward as an art, the scepter of time.

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