The Place
A homonculus gaurds the gate of the eye,
he allows things to pass in,
only rarely to exit
from
screaming incendiary furnace
from
neolithic funeral pyres
from
burning inhospitable atomoshpere
from
diffused trajectory nebula swirl
from
napalm heart bleeding
from
Dresden the oven
from
life divided by two isotope tracers
from
molten pig-iron white heat spit
things pass so easily through the eye
and then get trapped,
in the place murder is born
in the place of the fuck-me twinkle
in the place of adoration.
