hallosse

I fell asleep once with my memory caught in tadpoles and roses and water and light, in the mausoleum where bloodshot eyes And paper meet (where ideas drop from nubby pencils, to splay, stillborn, across a sea of white). My pen bled circles through my desk that night. When I woke, you were standing on the edge of my sight, your eyelids trailing ink. I watched your hands fold in and out, The smell of words too strong to think. You smiled at me and let me fall into the promise of your face. There I read snowflakes, sea-foam and angels; flashes of of glory and splinters of grace. I asked you in, and your words behind - 'Sing, muse, of roses

This City is a mirror smashed. It slowly falls, A galaxy of brilliant shards: Ruins of unearthly splendor. And I can only watch, suspended In a state of  breathless shock, as beauty, Grace, and wisdom bounce against the floor To lie in dully shining heaps, Their sheen besmirched by that strange stain That men call progress. A tower stretching to the sky Will always fall. The plans of those Who built a City (carved of glass that might reflect Their high and noble dreams) Cannot outlast the broken mirror lying At my feet. I see roads like twisted threads Running through a tarnished hub: Dirt and grease of time have slowly weighed The gold