It seems like everyone is opting to believe in the intangible again.
The doctors wear their lab coats to the church.
Content to drive perfect automobiles.
Unable to deliver confirmation of the edges
squirrels trace, or why the lamp post falls on grandmother's
head, science is a pervert these days.
I used to play music out my window when I was content
that history was an undrawn curtain
& that everyone would want to know what I was up to.
Mystery used to come upon the saints & take
them out to diner when it seemed like all was lost.
The mind in air becomes occupied with candles,
the mouths of graves grow teeth, become fertile
property for painters of heavens, calligraphers
dismantle the option language provides to measure
the words for heart, Corozon, Cuore, the virgin
center of a knot of longing. Science consumes desire
like a tiger eats a villager. The saint becomes protection
from the wrath of gods flooding. The year the river flooded
downtown the warehouses turned store front
chapels were baptized, mold encrusted the sign
of the holy finger. But science, the code, embedded
in the bacterial sludge, the bilge canker's Damocles,
science is the beheaded god of night lights &
roller coasters, she Bears the burden of the sword wonder.
Watching those business men, heavy investors
in redemption, pray, over the phone from the wheel of the
gas guzzler, to be unburdened from the coat of tears.
I hear the ghost of science plead to be resurrected, from the stain
of oil on the city street. From the Electric fuzz of my
CD player's dying battery, I hear the burden of tears call out
& shame the conical pleasures of the magical heart.
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