Friday, April 22, 2011

Cynie Cory

SOUL-SONG


Here is the pilgrimage, hand over stone,

flat like an iron tongue. I wear this grief

through me -- an angel on fire – a thief

in my garden short-circuiting the zone,

brained-out like a future idiot phone

message heaved from the throat like a belief-

system wrecked, nocked arrow the chief relief.

Sleep cracks gravity’s law, singes the bone

that won’t break the black above live oak limbs.

The backbone rattles the night sun and surfs

metallic satellite light-white that rims

these astral edges, burns blue this song words

cannot undo; no plug, drenched in light-speed,

I’m sawed in half without the past, my reed.




MORE WORK BY CYNIE CORY

Verse Daily
More Verse Daily
Jacket
La Petite Zine
La Fovea

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