Mysterious Solitary Electric

Enfolded into the interconnected universe,
stuck between Schubert and Jesus.The devil
always has the best tins.The pop-cultural
boogeyman doesn’t exist, but the negative
energy poured into the idea is palpable.
Some say clay tablets, others smallpox scars.
By the light of one lamp we resemble angels.
With wicks of asbestos the temple lamps never dim.
Heaven is the soul of our galaxy. She is a region
in Guyana, a magic bobcat. Two sycamores of turquoise.
A drive of orange trees. As henbane is cold in the third degree.
If you don’t like the fennel theory, credit swallows
with the gift of fire. He who sendeth out rays of light
over the thigh of heaven. The light is beyond your
knowledge, and ye cannot fetter it.
Don’t horde
the knowledge, recirculate. We’re only in the trough
of the initial ripple. Whatever is well said by anyone is
our own to take and keep.
Goat’s blood will break
a diamond. Alter the monomer and go from nylon to kevlar.
Coppice the willow, the cleft chestnut. Water comes down
from the blue cloak. The thieves will steal what they want.

Whit Griffin (© 2012)