stonedsour's Diaryland Diary

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An Alter

AN ALTAR, FOR THE EARTH IS FLAT

An altar, for the earth is flat.
We dig but not to find. We place
where no thing was, we hollow out
and pour. With luck, it sets in years.

Atop we build a Kodiak,
put paw to paw to loamy nose --
a loop of fur in braided stone,
a cave that grows with each half-breath

Soon lifts a square -- a granite foot --
and rears its buttressed head. A peal
escapes while monkeyed wings -- six pair
on every shoulder -- lean toward

its ear and speak through fingers laced
with thumbs where jawbone meets the skull.
The windows flex, they take the shape
of candle flame, of water drop.

The yellows first, and then the blues
the reds, et. al. The stainless ones
are last to pop. The saints did not
complain -- though temples banged against

their metal haloes, sparked like flint.
Their robes remained impervious
to fire, though, the blessed rock
this end of cycle sediment.

11:19 a.m. - 2005-04-02

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