Monday, September 21, 2009


One long inspiration swells
each red arteriole. At the farthest shore
every inlet of the pallid lung
blushes with the Magi.

Long fingered hands give poisons out
and bear back jagged scraps;
they throw the bitter leavings
to the tide of departing air.

Meanwhile their gifts go wandering
in hidden places, drifting with the blood:
chalices secret with burning,
gifts of corrosive life.

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