Mostly Poetry
We can’t get enough of the solar eclipse photos and footage. On this picture, sun spots are visible as the moon moves into full eclipse position. Unlike in a total solar eclipse, the moon in an annular eclipse appears too small to cover the sun completely, leaving a ‘ring of fire’ effectPhotograph: JAXA/NASA/Hinode via Getty Images
RNA replication before and after the evolution of ribozymes.
There was a complacency of stone,
Unsettled by a faint perturbance
In the quality of consciousness,
Reflected in the prepared piano’s tone.
More and more came closer and closer
To the wood’s deep, dark and certain
Emptiness behind the green, infernal curtain.
Even as the dreams we dreamed were
Masked by that mystery we knew
Was not ours to answer
But never-the-less was just her
Way to keep us focused on bills come due
And credit unspent in a fractious season,
Held closer by the whirl of dancers
Who had been clad in a welter
Of wild floral patterns fractal beyond reason.
This is the dance you earned.
This is the wilderness you wanted.
This is the sleep nightmare prevented.
This is the lover once embraced, now spurned,
Who held you in her arms
And called your name to a heaven
Bereft of angels and as inhuman
As your own flayed skin is after rapture’s charm.
Incongruent birds carve random
curves across vacant sky. Rapier wind
un-sheaths a silver whisper’s edge
against blood-red dawn’s un-slit throat—
threatens ruin or ransom.
Clouds like fleecy, unshorn sheep
congregate below a blue they can’t escape—
bleat for a freedom they’ll never know
from shepherds who are themselves in bondage
to a Lord who will not let them be
who they were meant to be
even though he made them who they were.
Anticipated arrivals have no perfect weather.
Sudden departures beg no questions
from muted stars. Day’s persecutions disappear
in the moon’s rear view mirror.
Night hunts departing dawn
like a starving guard stalks a crude intruder.
The last man standing strips the sleep
from bankrupt dreamers whose cruel maneuvers
bashful innocents can’t redeem.
Lost gods gather where their believers
left them, in burnt-out fields un-comprehended
by the forecast consciousness required before
dismemberment scattered what once mattered
back to the singular null where all began,
where blind souls blossom and all begins again.
