departures, wonders & tears

Florence Sinclair

Do you think about those things often? Low-background steel and trinity tests - the heads eventually tell it all. Dead man’s iron.

Outside the courthouse two cars ploughed into each other like an organic oval collapsing at its tips. A crack of antlers. Now the two metal frames rest crumpled. The black diagram of their shadows overlap my past with the dark fuzz of the present.

You’re never sure who’s special till they are gone, all scrap metal now. We look down on these awful people and their endless capacity for enhancement. And we worry. Of course we do. There are no instructions to live by. There is little but the wind to guide us.

Divine because they take him to the supernatural realm of the revelatory, away from Babylon, the beatific: to the very presence of Godhead. Like an LSD trip minus the chemicals. His condition has given him a certain dreamy detachment. The situation is urgent.