Tongues Of

October 30, 2018

Is this purgatory we are in?

Then, tongues of fury,

what voices are song?

 

Perhaps the image is trite

but hope is stuff to be clung to.

 

Meanwhile disease plagues flesh,

grows by eroding.

Everything is unsheathed.

 

Look, listen for that light.

Follow blown threads.

A bridge of sighs crosses over

this carved out quarry of blood.

 

Skin, what has used you?

Thinness gives shadows

authority of a new kind.

 

Rites of the journey:

losses get stacked.

 

Once they breathed; were individuals.

The came darkness.  It seemed allegorical

but the business more than cautioned.

 

People really ceased.

 

A chorus forms from the facts.

We walk through, first burnt,

then anointed.

 

It’s a riotous solace.

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