and what of these beasts

defanged and starved

   dehorned and vulnerable 

     and what of all we've built

deformed by fire

fragile and brittle

   fingers grasping at the sky

whatever gods in gold and

     light

whatever devils in silver

     gloom

   they’ve turned their backs 

and they have abandoned us

their most promising 

     and beloved

   enterprise 

     we've pulled the whole 

of this gifted apparatus 

   down and around our feet

bewitched in cogito

     self-assuredly we trampled 

   the life from it

in the remaining ash and dust 

   pressing down

onto our crooked and 

     peeled nape

     we the vessels of undiminishing

disappointment in disheveled 

   and brazen locutions

     wail out our laments

and all those beasts

     and whatever of the

remaining birds

  mock our petitions 

and trace the gentle arcs of 

     necessity and annihilation 

how we loved
the yearning
of the views
unbroken

...and from
the earth
lightning
cracked
into the
ruinations
of the
extinct sky

the gift
of the six
golden kings
grows into
our empty
dawn

floating
through the
black mists
of our feigned
sanctity

the pining rain
and the hot
tar roofs

the embers
of hope
slain by
our enterprise
glow dimly
in the
choking night

now we build
towers for our
wilting hearts

a
melancholy
descent

through the days
of the golden
light we spoke
of salvations

sturdy oaks
groan whispers
of hope

those places of
your slumber
crackling with
fire

when the
skies are
thick,
and oily,
and black
we shall
gather sunlight
through
the windows
of our dreams

drowning in the rains
all the ghosts
achromatize into
the mountains
of my memory

lumps in my throat
grow when the stars
revolve around my
heart

the nightly pyre
all dressed up
in sweat melted fat