Seven Sculptures. Poem by Ross Ulysses Munroe

Seven sculptures lay upon the altar
of my soul, iridescent, numinous,
unassailable.

Five black swans arise before me
facing the center, turning like a wheel
the vitality of terror
of lust
of hatred
of envy
of pride
propelling them.

Behold six crucifixions
In the crosshairs are pinned
the despot
the heretic
the rapist
the coward
the maiden
the savior.

I entertain a vision of the world
of man and beasts.

Seven thousand images whirl
like dervishes
the dying and the dead
the ever born and never were
ascending from the ether to the heavens
an infinite column, a torus
a wedding sacrament
the spine of the universe
bringing me home to myself.

But these are just a few
of the ceramic bits and pieces
The detritus of a grander time.

There is much more that can never
pass over the tongue, nor even alight
upon the eye.