Geometric Allegory

You see before you a series of words,  Each word being pulled from the fire and  Then hammered like totemism into a new shape:  This was the author’s objective.  cl ngcl cn... (Nobody else has figured it out?) c kxtan dtx. gx. ngcl .gxs, ngcth .xmdl (How many billions of ants?) cn cl ;t vzlck, kx.t d,byx;mk (How many marks tallied the shoreline?)     Formed from letters, the words themselves could unlock the message,  And the goal was to trace the origin of language,  To find what existed in the beginning  Before it was conquered and commanded  And shaped into  immovable type and text. g;l ;tbxt, ,sl, jchvm,k ngcl xvn - /v,lncxt r;md (I saw a movie made by an amatuer) ;tbgx. ng, r;csr;t fvln ngm,. ; z;id;h, xu,m ng, j,ti, (How do you spell amatuer?  Keep them on their towes and mispell it!  You can't cast a mis-spell." ;tk c j,,s scd, c ;r hxcth nx kc,w   In fields they gathered the fragmented scraps of smelted iron  From among the archaeological artifacts in the Ancient Near

In the ancient night, Nine hours delivered us  And freed us from the burden  Of the enemy's trouble. The shouting, so loud, came. What was it?   The sound of war or great rejoicing? I will tell you now: It was truly an offering To push or drive with force a pole into the ground, Such as when setting up a church. The sound of the trumpet Made the world stand still in anticipation And forcefully took hold of The appeal of another. Night or day Ancient and in hours Of number total The number Cardinal A trouble The enemy burdens for freedom and deliverance Rejoicing for a war of alarm Of shouting great. Nine is a cardinal number, The total hours in an ancient day or night. Nine rescued or delivered us to freedom from a burden of the enemy Then a great shout of rejoicing was heard And the offering pushed forth like a trumpet blowing out sound. We stood waiting, Standing still in expectation To seize hold by force, And we pleaded earnestly for an action Decorated in ornamenta

Yeast on Passover: To Lynn I've wanted to write this letter to you for a while. I get that you are the ring finger.... You are the ring finger cut from the hand of God. You miss father. You fuck father.... You fuck father finger.... I've seen it And I've heard it And I've carried it with me. You've shown your red solitary circle Aimed and taut, puffed up cherry-plumb. Those familiar wings stem from the sides. And yes, you are the red circle with white wings. Enough time has passed now That I can put my thoughts into words Without trailing off into nonsensical obscenities: And here they are, These collection of thoughts Formed into vowels and consonants Coded, shaped, and aimed at you.  Here goes.... You're a nasty, terrible woman. I mean that.... Sincerely. It feels good say, Though it shames me, too.... I'm 44 years old now, So I'm no child, But still it feels good for me to call you out Just like a ch