05-12-2013, 06:38 PM
Devotions clasped in fingers waxed by molten Mary Magdelene;
incensed, she curls the smoke about as Proust shouts out,
all splendid clad, in golden garbs shrunk taught as skin
by iron-red steaming rain.
Skies slide by, shriven; crackling crisp and blowing dry
as Satan's breath. Neath burning blast her blisters burst
and ooze out holy spirit from the still and torpid vestments that
her God made fleeting flesh.
The bulging bag of jagged bones jangles in a silent song where none
who hear have air to breathe or ears to sense the coming storm;
though flashed by fiery foment, fury stirs but aether, cold and thin.
None feel the changing wind.
Moments pass in unremembered aeons, while tuneless trumpets blare away
the faith that once was safe. Harboured in the Bundled His, pulsing with
unskinned and hollow drums, she watched hot running rivulets return
to pool in cooling seas..
and yet the sea, it is not full.
(Ecclesiastes Ch.1, v.7)
tectak
May 2013
incensed, she curls the smoke about as Proust shouts out,
all splendid clad, in golden garbs shrunk taught as skin
by iron-red steaming rain.
Skies slide by, shriven; crackling crisp and blowing dry
as Satan's breath. Neath burning blast her blisters burst
and ooze out holy spirit from the still and torpid vestments that
her God made fleeting flesh.
The bulging bag of jagged bones jangles in a silent song where none
who hear have air to breathe or ears to sense the coming storm;
though flashed by fiery foment, fury stirs but aether, cold and thin.
None feel the changing wind.
Moments pass in unremembered aeons, while tuneless trumpets blare away
the faith that once was safe. Harboured in the Bundled His, pulsing with
unskinned and hollow drums, she watched hot running rivulets return
to pool in cooling seas..
and yet the sea, it is not full.
(Ecclesiastes Ch.1, v.7)
tectak
May 2013