This Cathedral, This Poem
Going down through consonant and vowel to seagull bone of poem, filligree of shadowed lace, where contrasts flicker confusingly, I will creep into this arch of light, this poem, a spider weaving in the lofty vault. Spawn of whore angel and cobbler king, I will gnaw hungrily into the heart of God. ...and streak beyond God... and beyond... and beyond, into the loveless and loving universe, slick with truth. This cathedral of poem, writhing and shivering like a shackled maid against the sultan's shaft, would be a saber slashing darkness from the heart. So I will enter you, humble and reverent, oh, Poem, in half light of color and sound, my tongue's cathedral. Cage of glass and stone Cage of word and bone Cage of impotence, Master mason of my skull, build me a godhead nave to enter in. I trail my fingers in the marbled font of phrase. Pour me now into God's veins, and fill him with my little light again that I may be wrapped in perfect and eternal love, and the cyclops of longing, keening for me, will be full. Written December 23rd, 2001 © on Dec 22 2001 04:28 PM PST, Carole Dudley 0 • 12
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"Going down through consonant..."