< Issue 10 >
Tombs of Giants
by Charlie Guzman
Silver clouds rust to copper, as they release
their veins with drops of plasma –
drown the shadows waiting with open
mouths.
The copper gathers into coins, those coins
develop eyes – ordained to watch, but
thrilled either way. Their pupils fester.
Buildings tilt, sway; the parks wither into sands;
the shores burn to mirrors, then shatter;
the mouths gape in Os, swallow oms of
Salvation.
The shades lacerate, tear their paper skin; reek
a scent of gangrene, in butterfly wisps;
collapse into one another, become one.
Bone spires sweat the details
of its final marrow – ascension
or declension from glass firmament.
Tombs of Giants
by Charlie Guzman
Silver clouds rust to copper, as they release
their veins with drops of plasma –
drown the shadows waiting with open
mouths.
The copper gathers into coins, those coins
develop eyes – ordained to watch, but
thrilled either way. Their pupils fester.
Buildings tilt, sway; the parks wither into sands;
the shores burn to mirrors, then shatter;
the mouths gape in Os, swallow oms of
Salvation.
The shades lacerate, tear their paper skin; reek
a scent of gangrene, in butterfly wisps;
collapse into one another, become one.
Bone spires sweat the details
of its final marrow – ascension
or declension from glass firmament.
HTML Comment Box is loading comments...