We can color holy dread with sarcasm, we can deny that holy awe has any objective place, but such responses are shown for everyone, at one time or another, to be false.Read More
and not one simile
to behold since every neuron
in the brain is crushed
by the literal
While you stand at the windows
words begin to fall, cascade, on the other side of the glass.
Like the bird that fell after hitting the fleet cloud window,
its neck broken.
The sun, I can hear it rising,
against the ground
The Is of the question of the poem sheds order like seasons, its figure inclined in titanic reverence toward a still greater sphere and marvel of coherence.Read More
weary you would whisper change
though changed, I take you full:
moon you are, but I am man