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Silence Exile and Crumpets
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Wednesday, December 12th, 2012

Time Event
Probably the first of a series of Bronze Sonnets

Sword notched from kills, ugly hooked gets things done.
His blank face metal cold. Her limbs spill out
twisted into our space. There is no doubt
in either of them. Streamers in the sun

from neck and staring head her venom blood
frozen from time to bronze. Titanic size
menace from both the living and dead eyes.
Both monsters that would kill us if they could.

Violence frozen out of molten heat,
Cellini made it. He had killed and knew
something that's here lovely deformed and true.
Swift feathered sandals on the hero's feet

caught in this moment that once flowed hot fast
filed spurs left when he took it from its cast.

You are a soul in Hell. It is not fair.
Your sins were many, mean, and in your eyes
they sting like wasps. You have forgotten ties
to love and such. They do not matter there

for Hell takes all your time. An angry pain
resents all that you were, and takes it back.
You are no more – simply what on the rack
is turned and twisted. Broken. Dies again

for what it's worth. Learns to do death quite well.
Is proud for hell is nothing without pride
envy and anger. They eat you inside
until there's nothing but this face of Hell.

Heaven's the same, you're just a song of praise.
So love your self for all your mortal days.
Take small amounts of poison. Watch your hair
grow glossy, and your skin become more clear.
Your sight grows sharper. Distant things appear
Not close, as such, but more precisely where

they are in space. Yet do not overdose,
drink too much water. Let your body learn
and stop at once should stomach start to churn.
Careless would make it easy to get close

to death and not quite know it. There's a price
for all that clarity. You start to die.
If poison doesn't kill you, it will try.
I know because it's killed me once or twice.

And yet I've loved, will ask to love again,
to buy such poetry with not much pain.

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