The Last Letter

Z is compatible
for the morning revelation
as dawn bleeds over the palest star:
zephyr, zoraster, zero, zen.
Those in vaults
like diamonds where
the eldest prisoners tortured
are chaste, rehabilitated and ready.
Privy to the static
age old whisper: dia-gnosis.

Aftermath to etc., aftermath to was,
aftermath shall be the vague carress
of temptation a fancy term:
Mighty apocrypha tear down these walls.


Where are your villages, your birds?How many brothers walk?Fruit on the branch is willing.A door for entry, one for knocking.Cattle at the butchery, their eyes.Heavy melon carts, spring.Collars creased to the napes of necks.Twisting called spine.Blistery disk melts the sea's a cold blanket covering the earth.Clouds organize into shadows.Wind and too many crops.Disasters happen once, myths twice.Waves toss the work of towns into trees.Night vision turns sleepers into green.A general curled next to his pyre.

Memories fade, they fade.Survival is for brutes.
Z is for lightning.Birds laugh in the morning, dogs all night long.

The thunder said, remember me?