Comet

 

 

 

As thing

meets nothing

only where there is life,

a spark of primal force

meets night’s smoky essence,

kindling like a distant

lighthouse on the horizon

toward some stellar Capricorn event.

 

In thrusts of

gilded splashes

or softened strokes

through misty haze,

mythic messages in blinding smear,

each a wave of blinding heat,

each to crest, to break then blend,

each to swell and soar again.

 

Nocturnal

wildfire flares

illumine this mass of nihilistic sea,

rape the onyx void –

an orange cryptic surfer,

on tangible neon-waxed flame,

becomes the only border point,

sears the black-hole spectacle.

 

 

One comment

  1. “an orange cryptic surfer,

    on tangible neon-waxed flame,

    becomes the only border point,”

    Craig,

    You always make us think, and I think this poem
    is both timely and holy. In this mad world that is
    quite an accomplishment!

    sarah

    Like

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s