1917-1935

The Sky Is an Egg

the sky fills up with flaming heads.
the vases fill up with eyes.
tombs come out of lips.
flaming eggs spin in the live heads.
the sky has a head of eyes.
the lips of the tombs are alive.  the vases of the tombs fill up with sky.

the voices of millennial leaves break the silence.  the eggs the eggs and
   the eggs.  the eggs the eggs and whatever can still fill the shoes and
   whatever can still make the heels of the millennial shoes grow.
the sky is a shoe.

the leaves grow the leaves fill up the leaves fill up the sky.  leaf by leaf
   the sky drops back into its egg.
nothing blows out the thick candle of death.
the voice of the sky rests on the voice of the vase.
the suns in the heads keep on growing.

leaf by leaf the eyes drop back into the sky.
the leaves shut their mouths.  the leaves serve as feathers for the eggs.
the feathers serve as leaves for the eyes.
under each leaf there is a step the dim step of a deadman with heels of silence.

more lips and still more lips thick lips tomb-lips.
eyes hatch from the eggs.  the eyes in the vases keep on growing.
in every egg there is a clenched fist in every egg there is a soul.
the sky crumbles beneath the weight of the lips.
the souls end in great haste like millennial empires.
the egg of death hatches from the leaf of silence.
the vases with flaming heels grow fill out fill up the sky.
each closed eye is an extinct empire.
the sky is a candle.

the vases alight on the eyes.
the one who arouses his soul his eyes drop his lips drop.  in the suns
   the feathers fall.
flaming eggs spin in the flaming heads.
the sun is a flaming fist.
the one who arouses his soul makes empires of silence grow.  he rests
   like the sky on the voice of death.

the debris of the void fills the dreaming vases.
the tomb of the eyes grows up to the sky.
the voices of the vases break the silence.  mourning mourning and mourning.
   mourning mourning and whatever can still fill up the shoes and whatever
   can still make the heels grow.
eyes grow in the years.  lips grow in the years.  feather-heeled shoes grow
   in the years.
flaming leaves sing on the lips.
the lips kiss the leaf of the sky in the tomb of the flames in the mouth 
   of silence.
the weight of mourning hatches in great haste from the lips.
the sky is a fist.
the sky is a voice.

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