Brandon Downing, p.5


With Him you were made into chambers. With golden
Uncles into the stroke, the brakes, his whispers. With aunts
Into instability. The reptile day. But gold is everywhere,
They are gold candles, all away. Now bending in the break,
Candles tunneling through black and grey, now they’re final,
And golden is the rainfall of eternity in its packages.
Each held the poisonous touch of Death

He says, that in Denmark, death is a great strike of blue
At the very end, after all the gold. Death is very alive there…
But now see, through Him the gold and eyes the mothers out there,
Golden jars of children, remaining tiny, golden. And He is there,
Through three meters and far, the water for once, His muddy cursive
Running along, with the floor and the walls now eloping into candles,
Candles of great gold. He is here, falling mechanical furnace, He is blue