fine cut diamonds
(I) Transcendent I never see you anymore, holding your wings up so they don’t break as you ease your way through the city, fuzzy moth wings covered in frost & false eyes that add to your own. (II) perhaps I’m too old for the world to appear as a whole. It flickers resentfully, the bare streets of foreclosed America, the swelling sad of family members, the laugh as time soars like a ribbon into hyperspace. So it shows itself in blotches, blood- and Easter-colored, and we’re handed green books of psalms specially endorsed for end times. They dig a home in me, demand to stay on the shelf, and the Ark’s boarded in pairs. Now the walls screech into white; they're washed through bone by lamps pure & nuclear. I'm the usher, but they told me drowning sounds warm. (III) He sits atop the ragged peak drinking crystal water as the shrubs sob and whine. He needs none else, pinned down he’ll eat air and stained glass, yawning & pulling out ribs.