accusation and confession:
i am a thought criminal.
a tattered antimatter flag
floats above the rain gutter.
in gray tones a phone rings.
no one is ever home. never.
crows rush in to sift and peck.
they desecrate the labor ward
where i gave birth to god.
old man plays cat's cradle with
with bits of dessicated string.
crows argue string theory,
fighting over quarks.
the history of the universe degrades:
god lay stillborn on the table.
somewhere a phone rings
in this flat black emptiness,
now a room without a soul
where i am disappeared.
2 commentaires:
WOW! - I've been re-watching Twin Peaks with my sons, but this is way scarier.
thanks, pisces. struggling to keep writing, to keep my brain afloat in spite of neurologic/immune dysfunction (t'ain't easy...) every once in a while, there's a gem among the pig slop: this is one of them, i think. love to you... xoxoxoxo
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