stutter a new language
punctuated by the failure
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
of those who were lost --
yet the planet still rolls forward in its orbit.
Sing your serial awakenings
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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