…from the mud, spiraling double-helix
intent upon apotheosis
ersatz DNA, verisimilitude
of countless generations
separating us from
first mover/primordial ooze
copies of copies
effigies of weltschmerz
simulacra of daedalian
dreams melted by sunrays
burning as we venture too close
or wake, blinking at the morn.
What then? Can we escape the cave,
turn from shadow to illumination,
or should we find contentment
in mud and echoes?
Speeding down 27…
from forgettable sedan
erupts puncticular orange defiance
weaving through night
on asphalt flame shatters,
flutters into earth-bound stars
fading in my rearview.
The Westbury Elegies #2Amidst potsherds, weeping for her children,
(picking at, scratching her scab-riddled wounds)
Fodder for the hospitals, graveyards, prisons,
Schools, and armies—ignorance and want.Bear it all, the wretched of the earth,
In your grayish, aching ways. The streets
Will hold your refuse, your blood; all your worth
Calculated and weighed, fettered hands and feet.Then will he bear his fated blow in turn,
When oak and pine are warring, intertwined?
What tree will lift him up? How can we learn
To hang upon them, turning inward an eye?Then keep wandering, treading all the barren ground,
Searching for the water in the stone.