Morning-Frost

Morning-frost

Clinging to my window:

Omen evolved from meaning,

Rorschach of the winter wind,

Patternless pattern of the soul.

Swirling mass of hunched spines,

Ice-storm of writhing monsters,

Serpents with jaws wide in horror

At the sight of themselves.

Shapeless horde of Paleolithic cattle

Wandering the glass

Like blood-bathed Cain,

But more lost, even, then he,

For even Cain had Nod!

Aimless, etched onto the universe

Like the Icons of raving hominids

And then melting from the window-pane,

Melting at the very cusp of revelation,

Waxing deadly and chill

In a moment’s sunlight.