Heavenhole Poem by Luke J. Holt

Reach with me
To off where the grey of cyborgs is the skin
Where heart and iron wrought
Aluminium mushroom
Inside this cure will bramble your storm ravaged head
And grow cornfields of peace where barbed hooks once menaced in their multitude
Aphrodites everywhere
Their tresses come in every shade and they are more alive than the androids probing their grey pockets and paying to watch a sex act
Waiting to outlive the buffer zone
Blood is its own crazed animal
Flesh is its own scent's reward
Sharks and robots under a banner of compulsion. The scavenged lens to the land of tin predators
They hold their forts
But we hold our courts
With moral swords and shields of zeal and crows for brothers on the hilts of suburban camels rushing for midnight's moontanned connection.
We spill misery's alkaline tears on composite notes while we save for mutually assured security deposits and no money down destruction
Some ruminating raincoat boy bound and pinched and made to keen under nerves and time
Dying to feel the cyborg's nothing
To feel alloy's stark utility. Being the material harder than meat and being so smart as it as to feel nothing.
Like doors and walls and war helmets
We'll dig with faithful spoons and when they bend to tiny silver arcs they'll make fine carobiners for the climb back up
Hell is awfully loud
The world is very old
No one is up there waiting for you
To live now is a sin
Stamped with cruciform glyphs as they march
This throng of whomever
This legion always ever vehement and always noisy with the devil's guilt a hot nervous breath down their necks
Piety a killing tongue poison and yet a mass opiate that makes the prone drool with the childish painkiller of fairy tales making their eyes vacant, dusty marbles
The cultural baby burped by a cross a star a moon or bars
Selling Pepsi and Coke at once with unmissable insignia
The consumer language we share through pictures of things be buy in our own villages.