A winter’s wind to catch me in my thought
and keep my heart from melting down; I watch
the
chiminea’s flames consume wood brought
from Santa Fe, and wonder if a match
from Texas could ignite a blaze so hot
that all our
earthly faiths in saints would catch –
A cold creeps
over me; the flame’s gone out.
I blow into
the ash, and eye its rise.
Tongues of
gold appear, lick once, go out;
the smoke that
billows forth a blaze belies.
My lungs fill
up with hope; my heart, with doubt.
I empty both,
and hear the flame’s reprise.
Whatever love pulls wind within this shell
fills up the heart, and leaves no fuel for
hell.
-----Original Message-----
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
[mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] On Behalf
Of Eryk Salvaggio
Sent: Wednesday,
December 03, 2003 11:37 PM
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Subject: [X] Apocalypse Music
It's Balkan Jazz, a Russian Hymn
played swing; come from the ground
where the blood flew out as luminous
as bright red flowers on the landscape,
the higher ground frozen into clay.
Here's some new Gods, if you're tired
of this old unhappy mythology-
The organizing principles of the world:
Coal, Oil, Fear and Loneliness,
and to finish: division.
Ah, crowned division!
How much do we sacrifice for you?
We've given up on a benevolent God
but sure as hell kept you around,
instead of us?
They had their genocide, we all
have our genocides now.
Everyone split in twos and fours
point at each other and fight.
What if we can never reconcile
these distractions, and then, one day,
the sun roasts out? Or shifts
the axis of the Earth,
or one more guy with a suitcase
destroys the world
to score one for his home team?
We're seperate now,
it may as well be for eternity.
All the hours we have lost
all the world it could have been,
if we had appeared in it
before it whimpered.
-e,
