Endless, Beautiful, Exact

By | 1 October 2010

Paradise is here on a beach of bones a bell fracturing air.
This is no document of barbarism
of clotted blood and glowing flesh
its shine too bright for too long.

It is seeking resonance, the broken things,
falling sunflowers, the fractured pipe, strands of her hair
about to break into ash.

It is the air of atrocity,
a kind of garden like a flat sea cities burn behind us
thin with the need to escape. Maybe it was a mistake,
I can taste the blood still.

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