rarelyunusual

in a moment life becomes
little more than motive;
a thought of one more breath
& eyes can witness perdition
too soon, too soon, too soon
too soon ahead of death

dawn

arrived on time
run-of-the-mill for a minute or so
before its agenda found focus
in physics & dire demonstrations
highlighting why planes
mostly don’t mingle with buildings
(a lesson left engraved)
plus a few substantial views
full of frenzied fuel; structural designs
& proof that architecture
isn’t always a functional plan
when its sketched aesthetic whole
is tested by a stress of parts.

breakfast

came with coffee
drunk with deft denial
amid renunciations, reality aside
how could this real be real
it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be (pass the popcorn please!)
but resolve gave way as it so often does
admitting acquiescence
with whatthefuck? oh whatthefuck?
what have they gone & done

God help us all, god help us
what have they gone & done.

time seemed to slow then stopped
beneath a voiceless heaven
as the point beyond return
swallowed the faces, the screams
tiptoed out on ledgeless air
in desperate ballet steps

an unasked lasting stardom
performed by silent mimes
before they spread unfeathered wings
like faulty pyrotechnics
exploding shards of fashion
in suits & skirts with matching shoes
along that yaw of runway
which were Septembers’ skies.

infinity is where expected ends
& madness safely takes ones hand
to guide the mind away,
before the truth of minutes
eradicates all words
except perhaps

Amen

afternoon

landed laced with horror
unable to turn from the rivet, the strut,
two silhouettes spit roast to black
before their frames surrendered;
the gravity of Newton’s scythe
uniting steel & bodies
with those too brave to run

& the ante meridien dives
falling again & again
brought us a bottomless silence
collecting cadavers & limbs.

night

became the dark acceptance,
a twilight buzzed by F-16′s.
the truth of ten thousand flights grounded,
somehow sudden relics
of what was, no longer taken for granted,
an innocence forever changed
wanting blood & war.

an emptiness reduced to stars
where atoms joined in matter
or what might pass as soul
gather names to prowl as ghosts

behind these eyes, our eyes, my eyes
that cannot remove what has passed from the past
that do not know how to unsee.

Jun 27 2003 ©L.Emery-Bennett