fire glows, orange embers
fixed points in sturdy earthen ice and clay,
All cattle slaughtered, seeds in storage, an inventory
taken, registered…
in the psychic web of genetic memory
weighing time against itself. Absent,
the paltry fickle gods of future races, distraction
born of comfort and idleness
the many faces of death are stripped away, there is
only lack, and the fear thereof
measured mercilessly by the creep of freeze and
thaw. On pre
Galilean oracle the spectral procession
moves predictably across the pigment and scratches in
stone
angled light, odd precision signals
a fixed point in the cycle of celestial synchronicity
where hope returns.
—Mike Glover
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