Tuesday, October 4, 2016


At the pedestal, where the paths
together join, at the heights, over 
there, along the hill, that's where
I saw them gather. Not an illicit
cavalcade, exactly, yet unseemly.
Lines of torches and large candles,
crawling over the hillside. The
primitives  -  I read about  -  used
to do this thousands of years ago,
when men still slaughtered and 
took false medicines and had no
trust in themselves, and dawdled
unto death and called it life. They
would chant words in unison to 
the Gods of their conjoined
imaginings. That was before
the endings  -  their vast 
explosions and sustained
plagues and hysterias.
It was a long time ago, when men
had just recently learned to fly.
They made great crafts of plastic
and metal, and almost thought they
were Gods, unto themselves. Pride
fouled them, thankfully for us. We 
now only reference these thought-cubes
to learn of what they were like.

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