There were no seats in early
churches, the congregation gathered around the preacher and the weakest go to
the wall
We arrived to devise the dream of
another union as a three-headed monster of devices and derivative benefits
In provoking an expectation of
grace and synthesis gnawing at lines of voice that thread being and time,
temporal shifts bring about the new mystic, which is of galaxy born
Empty chairs and pavilions waiting
for a critical mass to assemble around a tide that bakes like meat in the sun.
The galaxy is at your feet - with
stars for air, sucking through cables to rage and technology from the margins
Class in its unrelenting affect
harrow the new heroines of the seaside and fill their pockets with heavy coins
Supple, chuck and press as the
moving of a limb cries its loss, tears of mascara and waxed pencil grease
Smudged by the great mistresses’s
fingers as they push past a feminine that culls quick movements and little
dwindling over sadness to anticipate
Eyes that were open centuries ago
looking at a world we now only see in paint
