Giacometti on Pluto

We walked tall

Like creatures of a Giacometti god,

Our heads among clouds,

Our feet on clods of dirt,

And our hearts somewhere in between.

We loved in the clouds,

We swooped and soared

Our sweet insanities,

We were gods in our heads,

Gods of the seventh sphere.

We defecate and give water

In the mud and dry leaves,

We couple and give birth

In the long shadows of drowsing mosquitos,

We die in shallow worm holes

Until we can die no more

And then our crackling bones

Turn to dust in the slow fires of time.

And our hearts?

Tell us about our hearts!

They are broken,

They are bleeding,

They are the food of Incan gods now gone,

They are as useless

As a poem on Pluto.


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