Thursday, June 30, 2011

11. Gunshots explode in the sky

as the initial crystals
combust into themselves,
demons and dragons
igniting the night into flames
of quartz, like Christmas presents
implode into strange galaxies
and feats of aerial architecture
in thunderous booms as if the
skies were suddenly falling
and comets were raining from the
ground up
accompanied by whistling snakes
calling out like maddened birds
flaring into the storm of
sparkling starbursts
and fireflies twisting about
only to end in unknown curlicues,

as if we have not enough
Vesuviuses and hurricanes
that we must stuff them into our pockets
and set the night on fire
for beauty, for pleasure
for the sheer

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson