intimacy

i walked among brokenness

even the flowers had fallen

and rancid lay in layers

oblique within ruin

the rest of the house

was torn from ever side

this was as random as humanity

the collected remnants lay still

like abandoned mannequins

sinless and devoid of life

i broke with footfall some

of this anarchic order

satisfied with the signs

that human beings had loved here

had lived and cried there

had released land to unkeptness

my hand touched a stone

my feet restless in this dearth

i watched the angles of the brick

against the shadow of the sun

and wondered about the order

the order of fallenness

somehow i paid homage

and knelt in photographic prayer

a woman came and spoke to me

believing i was the gardener

and soon i left thirsty

 

posthumous discourse

it had warranted death

the silenced words

cut like the end

of isaac's ram

it was all over bar

the shouting

and ram's sure can shout

isaac had seen the knife

knew the god swindle

and until the saving

had never contemplated

anything but dying

there upon an altar

god's lamb slain

he had gloried in it

had wept for himself

and his own regard

but when the bleating started

bloody bleating ram

he had swung around

and with eyes that wept

for lost death's and martyrdom

had surrendered to this life

as if it were the second death

of lazarus

terra firma

 

the painting she gave

was not grey

instead its ochre

was split with oranges

and the eventless

grandeur of sky waves

i put it at eye level

and often did gaze

at this split earth

consumed abstracts

with eyes, rationality

without a presence

fled and remonstrated

with the endless reds

i pictured myself there

as if a man on earth

reddened by the sky

until i lay my head

at the foot of the sun

 

in a movement

in a movement

is a gradation

the slipping shade

of a day interloping

reading an angle

from yet another

angle, detaching sides

from other desires

until sides become ribs

and these wings and

these metaphysical wombs

and sudden is rapture

more than application

it is the eve, the oeuvre

a manoeuvre of kindred

from light to darker

in a movement

here solace is captured

and god is silenced

for this is god