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Poetry, Summer 2007
Deluge by Donald Kuspit

 

deluge i
 
the bird was a burden,
                                           and so was wisdom,
although less importune,
                                                until the rip tide
of silence
                   dragged words under,
and pilings of consciousness
                                                         collapsed
into the oblivion
                               of the unconscious.
 
gods begin 
                      in amphibious feelings
lured from the infinite
                                         by fading light,
the dew-like dust 
                                 on the memory
of what might have been.
                                                meaning
grows molten
                           in the cold sun,
awakening angels
                                   from forgotten heavens,
looking for nests 
                                 in the gray clouds.
 
but the bird continues to fly
                                                     in circles of abandonment,
screeching wisdom as it is swallowed
                                                                        whole by the sky,
while the wind carries its corpse
                                                              toward the light.
there was no resting place
                                                   on the shadow
it cast on the water.
                                       it hovered like a ghost,
waiting for christ
                                 to teach it to walk on water.

 

 

deluge ii

 

 

godís voice

                       dragged under,

having lost ultimacy.

                                        unable to rest

their wings, 

                       angels were ground down

by the sky,

                      and pulverized

into reckless light.                 .

                                   the grayness spread

in a shroud of clouds,

                                          more durable

than any light,

                            more ancient than darkness.

 

let the bird take

                              as many flights as it needs

to find new land,

                                and then to know

there is none,

                           only the everlasting bleakness

of abandonment

                                in the ark,

where it must  live out

                                          its days until

all life becomes extinct,

                                             and the faith

men have lost

                           will return to god,

once again free

                              to experiment

with the emptiness

                                    in search of his own fullness.

 

refreshed by the deluge,

                                               he will nest

in the ruins of man,

                                     and create beasts

more miraculous

                                than any angels,

but he will never again

                                           create the human beast.

 

 

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Per Contra Summer 2007