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PROPERTIES

Hold your face up to the sky
as if smiling at an unseen child;
look humbleness in the face and ponder
the stupidity of its expression.

I'm lost in pure process, civilization,
the city where music goes off
and sirens fill in, way out here
exploring man's first and final frontier.

Past far limits, past limits far
retrieving blood streams
where the stone lies cooled
in the orbit of explosion,

I scratch handfuls of sacrifice,
one long ritual praising death,
and see your face,
your insane face blinding the sun.

      — Matthew Hyle