Thursday, September 1, 2011

The discoverers' class.

Relieve the seal on this hermetic room--
It is full of candles and ages of smoke.

Incense returns,
The year, too.

Every orange strike upon the dominant sky is
An impression of our disregard,

As sure as if we filled armored skins and
Pried for the redolences

Of those black wicks which lit our anointed failures...

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