The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 11 August 2014
100-word proem: 'curtain'
Thank you to all who have sent prose-poems in; there's time and space for more – see here.
The turret rising hard up, as if on a hydraulic lift, spreads up over the ruins of neighbourliness. Arrow slits on the castellation follow along, forking historical zeal, reminding the party-goers below that an assault had once been planned. Almost paralyzed up on the parapet, bow taut like tensile steel, the keeper plays out loud to the gallery.
Have you spoken of the wayward? Think of your origins. Where would your families be? Have you spoken of the signs?
It is the dance of the ancients, stone around stone around stone.
Go, they whisper. You are young, you are young.
© Julius Smit
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