Monday, August 12, 2013

poesia

dear gilt angel
catching the light of candles

how fractur'd my thoughts as I am made
to measure actions as sins or necessities

cornering them with recited prayers
or my own reckless versions

even now, my mind weakens
as preternatural truths confound the common

an image of hands
carving your still-flight wings,

your graceful features countenanc'd
by half-lid sightless eyes,

as I am made to affirm all creation
with eyes half-blind

in this building
you are the keystone and the cornerstone
I am the builder

in this life
you are eternal
I am oblivion

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