Thursday 11 September 2014


Paralyzed tongues
stutter a new language
punctuated by the failure
of comprehension;
mind cannot process
what these synapses send.

In a blinding paroxysm
torn from the sky,
our home is now a crematorium urn
perched on a precipice of void.

We seek meaning in shards of relativity and glass
In vapors casting shadows over hot bricks
and new mutations
inhaling molecules
of those who were lost --
yet the planet still rolls forward in its orbit.

Scream out!
Sing your serial awakenings
and incarnations,
dream as if no other force on earth could contain you.

Written by Stephen Cook, formerly of Cedar Street, New York City, after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.

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