Sunday, September 28, 1997

Simple One

wicked wisdom weavers driving iterations
spinning a coiled web of lethal forms
casting shadows colored with fear not of heaven
and reaching, with soul thievery on the minds
like Sodomites blinded by the light

yet, it's only time
investigating intention
stringing stops, failing the created action
and piling up heaven
one dark night, on the heels of shabbat
riding a scorpion's tail, caught in the complexity
transforming the curse cast
collapsing without calculation
perturbations pivoting around poisoned points
baseless, clear to the distant end
thoughtbare, the silent response
of immune defense
this female field of life, without perplexity
casting the answering observation
byte by byte, letter by letter, space by space
line by line
in the divine

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