he dreams of a new physics - his memory muscle remembering little
he awakens under pressure - dismisses the event as a disaster
a new EDEN that can never be - just more media hype
the long line – an eruption of interruptions – an endless ellipsis
The nails came, squelching through him and pounding into me, each one a comet
destroying a planet, each one exploding
like sperm on an egg. People watched,
becoming christians, becoming saints,
there weren't really saints before, saint Mary,
saint Mary, the thief beside us became a saint.
I keep my little principality tidy. Like Genghis Kahn’s nuns, I am a part of a war nation, having no real land or location, taking pain out in ever widening circles. Shouldn’t I travel as the hordes did, living off the conquered, carrying only my broom, a war nation against my own. It doesn’t take much really. You only have to be hungry and willing to do what it takes to get fed.
There is no such thing as weather. On the off-chance that it rains, I will remember the indelible mark upon a winter pond where we would skate to music in our heads. The lamp of God was healing to a water deeper than some misplaced months.