To the Chaldean Zeus by Bret Norwood

Cloud rider, falling from the sky

harder than a nuclear sunset,

have you measured your wings?

Could you tell me off the top of your head?

Flying on selenite

is a pretty way to die,

to become that radial fossil

in the hill of red shale

that my hypothetical future children will handle

and of which they’ll say:

“What a strange number of legs”

and “You don’t see those anymore.”

You. Lost, downside up in a rotating


accumulating numbness

that used to be pins:

strike me with lightning

and find we’re karmically linked

–reincarnations, though I dare not

say who came first.

Find we’re the same fucking mirror

reflecting a common and unidentified

third party with a distasteful mustache.

He tips his hat. We almost fall.

There is thunder.

Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

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