A measure of the spirit
By miles eagle’s eye
History’s black, girdled veil
Shadowed by disguise
Blinded by buildings
Built with flare
And swearing signals cry
Shining with the air of angels
Like heaven’s child spies
Measured like the depth and angle
Of an empty glass of wine

The measure of the spirit
Like the time it will unwind
The second stop the ticking
In a reckoning demise
By drafts of condemnation
And fear draped down the spine
The cost of lone self-slavery
A slippery shell reprise
The metric stare of heated hell
For which the hallows blow
The river turns and birthed by breath
As it runs away from home

The measure of the spirit
Lift the needle to the stone
The hieroglyphs and mono-myths
The blood and broken bone
The systems of the skin and tongues
Spearhead to fearful toe
The great collapse of emptiness
Engraved on the tombstone
By tool, by trowel, by compass kept
The measurement’s unknown
For to calibrate or calculate
Or place a number on the soul
Only separates and procreates
Human hate with callous cold.

***

fall 2016