Whittle-cage Sermon

floating above the corrupt
miasma of tropical summer in the city, suspended
over the darkened buildings they identify & crown

hieratic logos gleam in the predawn

abstracted into tongues of cool flame

flattened circles, elegantly designed pagan idols
shaved down to temptation icons for vague appetites

the magical soft light sculptures hover
like a dimensional gateway

(shut me up in a good way
stuff yourself down my throat one joint
one gland one fold one beat at a time

is there no love will not suffocate
its object-- or suffocate itself
in its object, at best?)