Monsters in the Floor

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Cyclops 338- 339

Your head, with all the other debris
Hurtling away from justice
Along with the dogs and the limbs and the angels,
All departed all joined in their velocity
We may one day find ourselves on islands of gold
Brought there by honorable trajectory
Shot through with remains of angels
Left worshipful at the bay where few still stay
Where we discover the giants and have
Some sympathy for them
Where we make promises hourly
That we have no intention of keeping

The progress of the faithful winds its way
The beaches and bitter ridges
Furiously driving toward some new Elijah.

Buffalo Girls Won't You Come Out Tonight

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Cyclops 324

(For Malcom McClaren)


A dancing force is enough to bring any god out of hiding
We remember his hand beyond the sea
Where ships trying their worth against
Craven grey storms explain their bondage to the shore.

In this way of knowing we come to these fields
Masters of intention but lacking in a greater tongue
We are betrayed by our need for vengeance.

The broken bodies of the poor are carried out of the land
By citizens of stone-they find their way, blind, through the gloom
There is dust enough for waiting
And waiting for dawn has become the custom.