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these are the ghosts

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graves at my command have wak'd their sleepers
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"Babylon has fallen, has fallen!
All the images of its gods
lie shattered on the ground!”
- Isaiah 21:9


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From anything that touches her she may recoil,
go no further
but retreat upon it all and reap
words that are born and unfurl under careful hands,
words that come from her trance
in a silent monotone.

Then the Alice-like fall
swings from dull thud to thud of her hitting earth.
In her long descent, did she howl?
I worry about that sound
and watch how her own nouns
jostle her now she is down,
her thoughts are an empty train, doors open,
and no-one getting in.

At times she had nodded drily at the abyss,
it is not sunny at this time so there are no shadows,
but maybe down there genius lightly spirals,
words landing squarely, perfect fits;
I edge warily, all blows glancing,
until my mind connects with a bright shock.
Somehwere, a train pulls off.


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