Perfidy of sense

“Ecstasy does not use the same symbol twice…” -Borges

Between two old men the great fumigation
spins around, and they called it universe.
On, for where is time lurking?, a knee
bent so one man may kiss the other,
a galaxy fumbles with itself. The old men
speak a vocabulary of one word, its own
grammar, its own insult. In the galaxy
is a multitude to match their plenitude,
their grasping of all things in old men.
On a shell of stone is a shelf of stone,
whose features, like that of eager space,
multiply endlessly. Roaming on the grass
writes an alcoholic, given to nonsense,
of endlessness. In his cells, engendered
long ago but genderless, two old men
play a game silent as their home of homes.

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~ by Jeremy on June 6, 2012.

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