The Apocalypse
And yet the hand can be so moved
that steel is made to bloom
and the dusk to innervate, like the human body.
The firmament bulges and bulges,
God's swollen belly bursts
the darkness rumbles and rumbles
paradise spits forth a galloping hell.
Men wither like grass,
their bones too soft,
and he lingers on their faces
a shadow glides 'cross the fangs of a beast,
and up above - an angel's winged pearl.
Patience ran down those flash visions
for so long they became flashes
and death died in mid-leap, like something alive.
But the world carried on
he cut God to the quick
or perhaps detained Him...
The silvery thicket creeps across the whiteness,
the scritch of tools cuts lines through the silence.
The starlight looks down
But takes no part.