Before the old things were new,
before the ancient was seeded,
i was ancient. Looking through all
eyes. all sides. I am the winding
and the wound. wounding and wound.
the ones in black, the old age counted
fair. The fall. All has, already and now.
perfume my altars in the blue hour. painting title in the blue hour
am morning and evening. fire red the sky
my cloak and all pinks and lavendars
my dress and all eyes on me through
them I see. Razor edge. I keep talking
through those with ears to hear.
Fever dream to the deniers-- even
their heaven. Unwilling they worship.
No comments:
Post a Comment