A Chorus of Blazing Angels

again with the late
night insomnia-
amnesiac early mornings soaked in dreams and
neurosis;
erotic seclusion and delusions of
grandeur.
the standard bearer falls into a wall of
fear
and panic.
what it is
(all this night and black-dark
desperation)
is that which it is not.
not light.
not bright.
not bound to illumination but cut
loose in indigo
space.
and a war on the other side of the world wakes babies
in bomb fields at the end of
Ramadan
at the end of
this world-
and I wonder at the world that follows
on the footfalls of this new Empire.
Horus climbs on a chorus of blazing angels to a new
throne in a new
sky and I
in my sleepy rags and paranoia
suffer vertigo at the dreaming of it all.
in these hours i become lycanthrope:
animal and
man and
my eyes fill with
blood
and my mind fills
with numbers and my
heart fills with famine in the knowing of these
unquenchable sensibilities.