Pastel Crematoriums (Steven Dierkes)
Along the carnelian streets that dances
over & under
my chalky skin, are glowing vigils
for unknowable strangers
in their manifold incarnations:
frostbitten devotees of Polaris,
enslaved does hidden in grimy cracks,
cherubim martyrs felled by kings
I, a caterpillar,
can teach you about their snowy thrones
yet never of juvenile butterflies
Hold me, as Yggdrasil would
(but never does,
for fear of tender-heartedness)
in a pastel urn
Set unpretentious idealists to torch
on burning tar, at least that
is a legacy left behind, despite
its ephemerality
strip nymphs of their singing hearts
I loathe to believe in unabashedly serene revelers,
in the cryptic promise of Eden,
when all the doves have been strangled,
their entrails forming a warning
of the coming apocalypse
How many more beacon flares can I survive
before the world tires
of my vulture mouth
roam free,
child of nocturnal streetlamps
before your patience for deliverance
bleeds you empty,
& the territories in your constellation
turn arid
I used to be like your kind
till I saw how the witches’ cauldron boils
in Eden. How it was dismissed
as simple acts of sacrifice
Cover Photo by PNW Production.