(no subject)

[apiphile]

rituals for overcoming death

kill the goat / don’t kill the goat
     but the sun will still rise
(the damn thing rises anyway)

//

peering through a crack in the lead casket of ignorance
the Italian says,
      and still, it moves.

//

our footprints scatter the lunar dust
      our trash litters up a small red planet
we are choking our own air
before we can fly off elsewhere.

//

and the sun will still rise
        and still, the damn thing moves

//

like a boy in the bathroom
  with a blade to his own throat
there is a limit to the damage we can do:

yes, we will choke.
kill the goat / don’t kill the goat

          the damn thing will rise
     without us.

(no subject)

[apiphile]

foyles

the empty foundation collects rain
it is hollow for so long
bleaced bone construction beams
crisscrossing in lattice above
golden city mud
that the projected erection
sinks shrinks from the imagination
like snow from the brain
overnight it seems another glistening ghost
sweeps up to puncture the skyline
unlived-in fake / unoccupied heart
grown too fast

(no subject)

[apiphile]

declaration on the resurrection

that which we remember
is a recreation.

i have once again constructed a private heaven
and this time I will not destroy it

with sharing.