When the sky moves and the sun casts its rays
The shadow of you wakes
Under a sun out of season—
awake from dreams plunging
mute cool horizons
and infinite arctic
visions
I am here. I speak your name in whispers:
“Quiet death—
your cabal has raised its mast,
hurried our marriage in panic.
They were tired of nursing us here.
Our aching—needing
to pull through
this black granite.
This cocoon of the sleeping world”
We return to the cement boulder
To towering wells of humiliation
To those kept colonial judges
staring away toward spires for god
piercing the air
I am the sea for longing
Seer through the abstract
I am the pilgrim phantasm
urging through the frost
I am the sea for longing
Seer through the abstract
I am the pilgrim phantasm
I am the model gospel
breaching canals
drifting back
to heaven
supported by 33 fans who also own “The Model Gospel”
If you feel like mist that graciously draws edges silken, as bitter clouds burst in droplets – a burnt hand would warily seek their comforting warmth – to let you wash your shame in tears; luxuriously tonguing atonement&salt , then this is what I recommend to you.
DNM von Siebenthal
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