Tremble These Words of God
(and then let go)

The world opens just a page ahead
of my eyes (yours and yours and yours)
or hurting; perhaps dancing twinkling on toes,
much like the dancer from that...
dance that I saw last week.

But that book was the first broken
(bits of the story scattered everywhere)
and it was even before, before the–
(the burning is what she means to say)
–yes, the burning. It destroyed!
Horrible, blistering, and raging, with winds–
winds that howled. The sound was terrible,
utterly devastating in the memories that it
recalled.

Youth was lost with a book, with a book
that the other one loved: adored so much
then had it (the youth) given back with a single, no, two,
blasts. They rang through the air, shook
the house in which she–I–showered. The flames
sent up the explosions.
In the morning she–the friend–was dead.
Dead and dead and dead.
She–I–never went to a...
a funeral...and only wept (nay, froze in place)
when coming onto the house, half standing (the other half was
gone) and when a child grasped for a cherished
part of the spent life of her sister.

Memories do not matter. Do not matter
in any of these tales for it must (oh, how it must)
be for the now. Trembles this conflagration, trembles
with an almighty wrath.

Trembles this conflagration, trembles
with untimely sobs from a hurting slum.

Trembles this conflagration, trembles
with a quake and a proud (almost too proud) speech.

Reformers come, and they go (sometimes effecting
no change that is permanent), and the life goes on
without their improvements, or tumultuous changes
and the story finds a way to recreate itself
with different eyes and different sounds:
it will do all that it has to do.

Trembles this conflagration, trembles
under the strain of rebirth.

So, everything known is chiseled away
(it becomes a...second-rate statue–can be
sure that it is no Michelangelo) and everything unknown
sort of vanishes with it. Because the unknown only comes
from the known. One without the other without the other
without the other. The book does tell it differently.

Unknown comes before known (according to it)
so there is no room for new unknowns to become knowns.

That dance. The performances were rigid. Oh, I hated
it so! Hated it and hated it and just hated.
It fades from the mind pretty quickly though: it ruptured
and stank, but odors do not seem to linger very long
in this house (because the mold absorbs them).

Trembles this conflagration, trembles
because it wants to be held.

Trembles this conflagration, trembles
this conflagration.

24 November 2005