Poetry Sunday: Girl of the Hour

Full night, eyes like silver

Lying in your Persian bath,

Salts of cities press your skin.

Notes on a scandal on the opposite page,

And another red sky, the first of your life.


Foundations of new buildings change the complexion of the night,

As illuminated fingers trace the dreams of dreams,

Life is happening elsewhere.

Wild weeds grow on moving train tracks,

As we forget where we are, we fell in too far

To a world of codes,

Binary flows like rivers used to under your toes.


We are the generation of the damned, the creators of the fall,

We, the men and women who continue the tilt.

While our children dance like Miley,

Bodies still as supple as silk.

And a goat cries under the cypress tree,

As a wife glances at the top shelf.


Pentagrams and horns of rams on duplicate denim jackets,

Looks hot as hell now on the backs of the fleeting masses.

All it’s essence through the machine,

‘Til it’s sucked dry and hemmed at the seams.

Who cares what it means,

History was just a thing.


You’re the girl of the hour, the boy of the sea,

Like Mona Lisa you have the aura of destiny.

Burn bright light perihelion, burn the magazines,

Bulldoze false idols,

Scream down the Basilica walls

Until heaven Knows your name.


Wave at the window and flee the world,

Leave them glittering and starving as if you were never there.

Your fame calls in heavens halls.

Now burn again and rise the same,

In the shifting perception of the night.


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