issue 34 > poetry > kuspit
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new gods i
by Donald Kuspit
O bless the old staleness
with fresh light,
become the innocence
in emptiness,
the eternity
history forgot.
the lameness of it all
remains,
the sky still creased
with old clouds,
the earth still polluted
With time,
the ocean static
in compulsive motion,
like memory.
unable to raise the dead
as myth was once able to do
it lingers
in the sterility
of repetition.
but enigma also lingers,
enabled by the promise
in silence,
intense with the vastness
of the possible.
o crown of meaning
on my crucified consciousness,
canker of feeling
blurring my senses,
you remain impossible
but unforgetable,
foreknown but unfathomable,
the last stand
of my irony and hope.