this trimmed feather

this trimmed feather
we are carving icarus potential
like a mapped failure
reach the zenith to find the nadir

there was lightning
plucked from plump clouds
and put in the hands of primitives
by fallen angels speaking fire

the flood has risen
and the sky has fallen
and the gates are locked
and the abyss is open

twist tag dna
two snakes about the wand
an ashplant frond
and the hero sits there pontificating

how far have we fallen
that gravity twisted
the central figure
into an observer

aye eye
and the yes is a god
from every viewpoint
crowded into an omniscient mirror

the sun is shining
the sky peels away behind it
and we dream night into the air
head above a pillow

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