Martha sang the sound of steam
While the Jehovah-bearded cherubs whistled “Message to Michael”
Zeus’ lightning impregnating the gaps in the wall
Lightening the cave-prison, a speculative spectrum:
Water on the lips of the dying prismer.
Take a metempsychosis into his no her well his body,
Trapped almost a century in a gossamer chrysalis
Glimmerless like duskclouds, sun aloof from the waters,
Met her pike hoses.
Shuffling before the walker, the horse behind the cart,
He no she well he schleps trash sacks full of years, a world of time
Atlas eroding, sand drifting to oblivion, breathing in the song of salt.
Paradise lost, Ulysses tossed across the pagan sea
Now toddling in wrinkled bedsheet skin
In the mirror only ever now as never Penelope.
The die is cast, the time is past,
The seeds all muskshore dunegrass hallelujahing
While he no she well he waits too late to breathe her last.
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