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Michael McGuire
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Matter
Fusion of flesh and future and the reason behind the rush of time,
Armies of fashion march thru the physical memory of history's mime,
A seed within a seed; planted in a cosmetic garden favored to grow some heat,
A need within a need; the cosmos on the string of this nuclear defeat,
Fill the void with the ache of reason and the spiritual memory of the ghost of god,
And then the weightless orbit of the ego's feather worked by gravity's brutal prod,
Only the beast that feeds the mechanism of ethics in the logic of the rain,
Is allowed to feel the birth of the bride and the honeymoon's aptitude for pain.
Within the boundary of the bone and the burden of the thought's unbound,
A dream is a document and the wasteland qualifies as sacred ground,
The child gave birth to a mother; now the sense of habit is made,
In the trance of atomic motion numbness; the martyr is paid,
Beauty is leaking from the eye of the beholder as he makes a witness of the meaning's chance, Unseen shadow draws all light to the core and cancer of the linear romance,
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Time is the bait that will draw the matter into the peerless construction of the wall,
And faith is the is the instrument that will measure the path of the fall.
There is a ghost that moves thru the silent places of stone and star,
The real rain and ruin and divine sex feed of why we only appear to be what we are,
And this waterlogged logic makes mathematical slurs in division of direction,
The subtlety of cloud in sky puts the weather obscure in this casual connection,
It all hangs so heavy on the canvas the artist is put to trail for the weight of the paint,
Put to death by the genius of the hours and by the slack of ages made saint,
A trick of focus and a talent of apathy flesh the body of the matter,
And words of the book of worlds spell the sadness even sadder.
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