Sonnet over Heraclitus
When you broke open his ribs
for the golems held within,
you were thinking about fire.
When he bore into your chest
with vague fingers, you accepted
the roiling beasts in the murk.
When guts were gliding on guts
and lungs in each other’s slots,
all of your names came apart.
When you drank the whole river
and washed yourself in his Ur,
you were not yet Abraham.
Then, two souls rechristened in coupled holds
did, like all men, not know what to be called.
Posted Aug 20, 2016, 1:23 AM UTC
Honestly, I feel a little intimidated by this piece. It seems very mechanically efficient and very intention oriented. Good job.
Thanks, mates.