Unearthly

August 10, 2016

Unearthly, he thought.
I fled the earth; you fled the water.
Only the sky remained serene.
In your refction, I find
the glass head. It sparks and speaks.
Your head shakes in a mouse’s
self-awareness that is monstrous.
To eat the mouse
you tear apart his skin.
Between your lips—
so rapturous—
you preen them so—
the mouse is like a fruit of the water.

As the rain begins, the clouds,
black as custard, are unearthly.
My eyes obey a justice too inert
to be a thing in itself.
You cannot see a glass head in
a transparent world, he thought.
We feed the earth;
the sky darkens;
the rain stops.

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