prophets
what the hell’s our velocity through this galaxy cry the prophets fiery angels in their heads people of earth we have come to open the healing lips of your women naked they dream of us across the lonely spheres each breast a ripe household of the sun whose cool bombs part the waters of the jordan we connect and drill into its labial chambers unwrap our hairy chests like the jew with his sword and his automaton silent he watches from the past life on this little ship chimes away like the empty sea filled with salty vapors and a tear how far we have come is a mystery known only at the center of the bloom how far we have come with our foolish burden — columbus may 10, 1980
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