Open your
mouth so
the spirit
can enter.
Today we
weep our
deluge, our
greeting
To each
celestial
body.
On Saturn
methane rains
upon its turning
gasses. Saturn
is old and cold
and melancholy.
Its rings engulf
us when we sleep.
Gravity keeps
our hands
so this poem
might flee
its terrible
spinning
demiurge.
4 comments:
a bit of stretching, of perspective, out across the solar system- sleep, saturn, spirit, methane- a demiurge- like an interference pattern they come together and create the spectral, holographic images that are evoked when I read this. I feel the micro-dust pelting my skin as I slumber in the embrace of this poem through the rings of saturn.
and, uh, I like it.
Wow, Craig, thanks! I like the idea of an interference pattern creating a hologram! What a wonderful description. :)
cheers!
no, thank you-
my replies and writing in general qualify as "over-acting" and so I apologize for that- but I like words, regardless, so I usually get caught up in them-
I am sorry if I am ass though.
-Mr. Compunctious
(I just learned that one. Yay for me.)
I enjoyed this ..thanks for sharing
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