Not yet clear who it was that made me watch this
stony indirect light, flags waived from ramparts
hearty organs in open view, our citadel ready
to receive the king. But there is no king,
only the outer image cast into the pinhole
on the empty throne an empty throne
whose sight spread tragic expulsion.
Now there’s only the news to give
two eyes staring at each other in wait
to be one again, activate the voluptuous law
that makes everything dissent. Eucharistic
fact of that first single-celled organism
in which our world is indigestion.
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