From bad to worse.
The hospital’s walls, shredded.
A turning back, the retrieval.
Frayed edges, unraveling, pulled down.
Conveyance and change, or, conversion.
Tying the knot, I think of home.
Things fallen apart.
She stands alone under the sky’s umbrella.
“Destroy infrastructure, destroy livelihood. Destroy.”
Water leaking from the cistern’s wounds.
Wind to voltage; passive to active.
My church is the sky, the earth below, and everything between.
The center of one, of two.
Rounds, piercing armor.
A spiritual hole, leakage.
“It was easier to view them as targets, not human.”
Sequences: from water to ice, to vapor and back again.
I will surrender to flame and be scattered.
Firewing, starbolt, tearmaker.
Guided from afar, they sense but cannot feel.
Counting graves, he considers relief.
The road to everywhere.
Looking back, I discover that I had already arrived.
* * *
I’d forgotten about “Transduced Ruin,” which was written during the August 2016 Tupelo Press 30/30 Project, a fundraiser for the non-profit literary publisher, Tupelo Press. I am grateful to Atomic Geography, who sponsored the poem and provided the title and these three words: spiritual, sequences, things.
A poem that deserves not to be forgotten, although I too had had forgotten it. “Recursive death.” followed by “Looking back, I discover that I had already arrived.” really brings it home.
For historical interest, my word suggestions were the last line of my poem “Lines From Post #74 (Part 1)” https://atomicgeography.com/post-74-2/lines-from-post-74-part-1/ . The title suggestion was from a line in the poem “form is transduced ruin”.
I am pleased that our two poems continue to constitute a kind of recursive energy transduction. Thanks for that.
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Thanks, Bob. I, too, am pleased that the poems are continuing their entwined paths!
And there I was on your poem, “The Gift,” commenting how you rarely have disturbing poems; this one has the same caustic air of inevitability with an extra layer of oppression limned therein. [D’Oh, on my earlier conclusion.] Anyway, this is another impressive-expressive jewel in the tiara of your stunning poetry, Bob. In other realms, hope your writing-week and life-week are wonderful!
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Ha! But they were written in separate years. 🙂