prophets

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