The Journey

It slams And impacted instantly Hoarded like gold The rib to my side Aching in its stirrups like Adam Swallowing hard and dispersing A fickle attempt to blend into the walls And edge a conquest, those beautiful red planes Smashed. A man half ferocious, half dead His Mussolini smile and little left of his gait Detonation Like canaries in deep mines, we slip from our perches Slowly we breathe, heavy paper bags Illuminating like so many zeppelins The thick carbon smell hanging like dust Free to roam, though essentially just cattle Inexorable we branch and explode ourselves Feeling like Eve as the bell chimes A forceful amputation, it felt like abortion Settled and quiet and then blown to the stars Days snapping Like matches, struck then useless Emerging half a world away and ages older Renewed in my old age and wiped Pure by the smoke and the bombs Precious as diamonds and pure as an infant.