United States of E
Two desperate lovers firmly entwined,
dance like a beating heart.
Perfect rhythm about to ignite
in a brainstorm of love and unknown art.
Upon an altar white they writhe,
shameless monks in chant abound.
From stained glass on high,
a shadowed snake is bound.
In seeps a holy light
and weaves them in a prism of fire,
A cocoon of impossible colors
even silences the choir.
A star screams in orgasm
as a new form reworks shape.
Like mad sculptress’s refining hot clay
eager for escape.
Their souls ignite, each blessed sinew
like spun glass aglow
From the rampage of her charge
to the victory athwart his foe
In a glorious enrapture,
a congregation once hostile now sings.
For from right out of their backs
have unfurled colossal wings.
With but a shrug of their shoulders
this new feature freed
Great angelic dominion,
Just rule from majestic deed
Some say that a vision
is no more than a dream.
Some give it moments’ ponder,
others it reigns supreme.
Could not a being of such fixed passions
be a muse for worlds come?
And not even the wisest may say of us
what wild intimacies may be undone.
trust now winds and wings
of which I thought wayward and forbidden.
As your feet too touch down only
to vault sky bound unhidden.
Each day you pluck chance lessons
from the strands of your fraying weave
To stitch within my soul
a tapestry the looks of which I can’t conceive.
We balk at The Bond and the elbowroom
in what must be but a larger cage,
For such as we make poor fettered beasts,
and find our ill at ease a shrunken rage.
Three simple words get tangled,
in our tongues in constant tide.
Of this I name no judge,
for too I soonly quick deride.
Are we then but pawns
to some trick of the mind?
Of this I think most likely,
charmed slaves in chains kind.
I wonder of the owner to the words,
which we stall.
I can number the reasons
I can argue them all.
Know then only this,
that we ride each other bareback
without reign.
We’ll rush headlong through barbwire
and bind all wounds of pain.
Yes, a divine play of light and shadow
wrestles too in your soul,
A rare and sleeping beauty
you are frantic to just show.
Yet in and by our reflections exposed,
we eclipse with brighter hues.
For in the mirror the roots seem firm,
we affirm to what we choose.
The image isn’t perfect
as the glass has cracks and flaws,
But for soul carvers suchlike us,
mere renderings to which the eye draws.
For a crack appears like lightening
in a sky of silver-white,
And the flaws are simply smudges
where we forget to polish right....
Two desperate lovers firmly entwined,
dance like a beating heart.
Perfect rhythm about to ignite
in a brainstorm of love and unknown art.
Upon an altar white they writhe,
shameless monks in chant abound.
From stained glass on high,
a shadowed snake is bound.
In seeps a holy light
and weaves them in a prism of fire,
A cocoon of impossible colors
even silences the choir.
A star screams in orgasm
as a new form reworks shape.
Like mad sculptress’s refining hot clay
eager for escape.
Their souls ignite, each blessed sinew
like spun glass aglow
From the rampage of her charge
to the victory athwart his foe
In a glorious enrapture,
a congregation once hostile now sings.
For from right out of their backs
have unfurled colossal wings.
With but a shrug of their shoulders
this new feature freed
Great angelic dominion,
Just rule from majestic deed
Some say that a vision
is no more than a dream.
Some give it moments’ ponder,
others it reigns supreme.
Could not a being of such fixed passions
be a muse for worlds come?
And not even the wisest may say of us
what wild intimacies may be undone.
trust now winds and wings
of which I thought wayward and forbidden.
As your feet too touch down only
to vault sky bound unhidden.
Each day you pluck chance lessons
from the strands of your fraying weave
To stitch within my soul
a tapestry the looks of which I can’t conceive.
We balk at The Bond and the elbowroom
in what must be but a larger cage,
For such as we make poor fettered beasts,
and find our ill at ease a shrunken rage.
Three simple words get tangled,
in our tongues in constant tide.
Of this I name no judge,
for too I soonly quick deride.
Are we then but pawns
to some trick of the mind?
Of this I think most likely,
charmed slaves in chains kind.
I wonder of the owner to the words,
which we stall.
I can number the reasons
I can argue them all.
Know then only this,
that we ride each other bareback
without reign.
We’ll rush headlong through barbwire
and bind all wounds of pain.
Yes, a divine play of light and shadow
wrestles too in your soul,
A rare and sleeping beauty
you are frantic to just show.
Yet in and by our reflections exposed,
we eclipse with brighter hues.
For in the mirror the roots seem firm,
we affirm to what we choose.
The image isn’t perfect
as the glass has cracks and flaws,
But for soul carvers suchlike us,
mere renderings to which the eye draws.
For a crack appears like lightening
in a sky of silver-white,
And the flaws are simply smudges
where we forget to polish right....
