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Shepherds of Flat Earth
by Matthew ZangenIn the beginning there were no words
but poets of sound and scent
bewailing the mother,
with a hunger
gripped by new thumbs
in the beastly depths
of forfeit flesh.
And they stood.
The beaten bone, forgiven,
answered no new flesh
grew no bolder as a blade;
pocked with the burdens
of alpha apes
thrashing earth
to hiss and scrape.
There was a light,
burning back the teeth of the land,
forging new fangs
to breach the swollen belly
of waking veins.
And they swarmed.
Like a molten cloud
they bellowed,
whipping elder trees
to burn brighter,
moving stone and steel
on their skin,
flayed and taut on oceans proud.
There, on the skin of everything,
it was written:
God
and they stood,
forgiven
to drum the blood of new flesh
that knew to eat itself
slowly, and with no words. 12/24/2008 Posted on 12/24/2008
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/13/09 at 02:17 PM What a magnificent poem! You take me, my imagination buzzing, into those beginnings and paint them deep with the sure and adept movement of your words. Well done. I am glad to have discovered you here. I look forward to reading more of your work. |
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