poetryrepairs #196 14.01:005
SCOTT HASTIE : Sylvia and Ted
CHRISTOPHER BARNES : Power Station Poltergiest
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Sylvia and Ted
  To seek solace as they did. To draw strength from the natural world, Only for it to tighten its remorseless grip, Till it brought them face to face With elementary truths That speared their insignificance And staked it to the ground without pity, Like a trophy, Like the bloodied innards Of a wounded animal, Caught in the final dazzle of despair. I can imagine that, Before she left him, They might have often sat indoors, Hidden away from the awful truths They had uncovered, Watching the heat from the fire, Cast in germ-like shadows, Rise slowly up the wall. All too aware That their time together was now melting away. Two souls emptied, hollowed out, By the risks taken in pursuit of meaning. And, at the window, Diamond truth. The hawk's eye That mocked them without mercy And harried them, desolate, to their graves.
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:005
All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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I See an Ant
I see an ant Carrying a termite wing Over the steel street nameplate CHESTNUT. In front of the oxblood thorax jiggles The litAe isinglass petal Which has its own amber shadow. One hundred and four years of wheels Crossing the steel Have rubbed its cross-hatchings smooth. It would take many ants to do such a thing. Fewer if each carried a termite wing.
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:005
I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Power Station Poltergiest
For all that, the milliseconds evaporated in smog below cathode-ray tubes. Zglinki's drawbridge turned steam, atom-smashing and a floppy sunset glistened the tall gilt-headed cooper. And you would have telexed that I'd fermented in cracked pots, distributed a plutonium brew. Two gobs of atomic split seconds cannot dint.  The globe is a timespace, critical mass with trembling sea air. Eaglets flighty on tiptoes point to electrodes from which shiftings I couldn't gamble and as he blinked away from me with unperceiving eyes he shrieked into the hood of death. We were at the graveyard's alpha emitter, under a three ton cloud, sited in the past.  The downcurrent ran out, ga.mm:a rays stilled as we retreated. As blue-bolt bang as it all went off, there were the conductors, the powerhouse hum, the volts, all that matters of the nuclear plant.
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:005
Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary

poetryrepairs #196 14.01:005
SCOTT HASTIE : Sylvia and Ted
CHRISTOPHER BARNES : Power Station Poltergiest
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