cargocult

 

In the transit time

When either the fog hovers

Or the cold air of winter

Rips through your flesh

First stand like a weatherwane

Then slouch as a rumpled scarecrow

Seeking vision through the dim light

What’s flocking together

Is not birds of a feather

But albatross and sparrow

Peacok, and egret flying in the shadow

Craning their necks

Against a wind not inscribed

In their hollow bones

A shift of pressure

Exhaling from the mouth

Of redundant times

Emerging from the fractals

Of cargo cults.

 

Pina Piccolo 7 January 2017