The Heavens Themselves

by Josh Pearce

Is not man a moth?

And does he not

with stumbling steps

make short sojourns

into the crystal night

of his life

(and did he not,

at first, find his path

by internal compass

affixing his eyes to the moon

until someone raised up

a crucifix and steeple

like a brilliant bulb

and we all turned to face it

in a row,

forgetting that once

we took our guidance

from the heavens

themselves?)

?

Is not man a moth?

With steps quick stumbling

does he not

make spiral sojourns his heart-

like a candle flickering

-beat filling his ears?

In the cold sense night

given him does he not walk

and hunger

and call it living

(and at first did we not thirst

along internal compass lines

filling our eyes with the moon

until someone upraised

billboards and scant clad ads

and other signs,

begging our praise

like a brilliant bulb

and we all turned to

face them in a row

forgetting that once

we sought to

fuck the very heavens

themselves?)

?