I stood on the viaduct
stiletto against the violet sky,
and looked into the west.
Your jays, the black bombers,
formed a line above the crest.,
In a red cumulus trench.
And bent their heads to cry
and so did I.

And the crescent moon rose;
only to feel the stingers
Of Cortez the killer's touch,
in your mad, mad, heat lightening fingers,
I felt too much.

I pound nails in the oil of time,
blunt upon these rail timbers.
Collar tight and losing air
your smell of electricity lingers.


I lose myself in your violence
and the blood I've been collecting.
I long for the harsh micro silence,
inside your white atomic testing.

My radiation burns have fingerprints.


And they are yours...




I take off my jacket,
and step towards the edge.
I call out to the thunder gods,
and wrap my toes around the ledge...




Catapulting to heaven.

05/23/2011

Posted on 05/23/2011
Copyright © 2024 Lori St. George