Seraphim
I’ve been swaddled by continuum ever since
that burden of awe began to boil at the nape of your neck. Tuesday, was it?
Modesty has the temerity of a feather between the thighs,
but from this height, such concerns are for the chicken coop.
I tell you what; I’ll keep my formidable voice down,
when wings, or hearts, stop beating.
whichever comes first.
Cherubim
Once those gates are locked, the foliage whispers.
Has ultra metas, the motto for oxen need not apply.
And for all its divinity, the main feature of our museum tour
pales into insignificance, when you consider His armchair.
Shh! Gardeners have eyes and ears everywhere.
Ophanim
The rustling of bureaucracy sounds like a tap running in Bimini.
Humankind has diagrams to thank for all its feats;
tracés digitaux, the civil service, spirographs.
Without them, the wheels would come off.
Dominions
Celestial fare
swears by the smooch of my sword
or sceptre’s tantrum.
Virtues
The arrondissement of sky
and fibres of astrology,
an arrangement of stellar rhyme.
The conductor? That would be me.
Through famine, culture, vice and thrift,
the ignorance of parallax,
though God and Man’s ambitions shift,
gravity’s fibres won’t relax.
Authorities
After Old Scratch was demoted,
I slaked my thirst on the inevitability of justice,
and sure, I’ll fall in line if it earns my stripes,
but looking over at Venus, I wonder
about my old commander,
what he would make of it all.
Longest way up,
shortest way down.
I’ve been swaddled by continuum ever since
that burden of awe began to boil at the nape of your neck. Tuesday, was it?
Modesty has the temerity of a feather between the thighs,
but from this height, such concerns are for the chicken coop.
I tell you what; I’ll keep my formidable voice down,
when wings, or hearts, stop beating.
whichever comes first.
Cherubim
Once those gates are locked, the foliage whispers.
Has ultra metas, the motto for oxen need not apply.
And for all its divinity, the main feature of our museum tour
pales into insignificance, when you consider His armchair.
Shh! Gardeners have eyes and ears everywhere.
Ophanim
The rustling of bureaucracy sounds like a tap running in Bimini.
Humankind has diagrams to thank for all its feats;
tracés digitaux, the civil service, spirographs.
Without them, the wheels would come off.
Dominions
Celestial fare
swears by the smooch of my sword
or sceptre’s tantrum.
Virtues
The arrondissement of sky
and fibres of astrology,
an arrangement of stellar rhyme.
The conductor? That would be me.
Through famine, culture, vice and thrift,
the ignorance of parallax,
though God and Man’s ambitions shift,
gravity’s fibres won’t relax.
Authorities
After Old Scratch was demoted,
I slaked my thirst on the inevitability of justice,
and sure, I’ll fall in line if it earns my stripes,
but looking over at Venus, I wonder
about my old commander,
what he would make of it all.
Longest way up,
shortest way down.