Breadcrumb #506

LIBBY MAXEY

How unconsumed, we burning bushes
prickling in the furnace
as wick as any man?

Pillar of cloud, pillar of fire—
no difference, really, if
you're not afraid of truth.

We walk on
back to work in Babylon,
no whiff of pyric smoke

no time for the compulsions
of cacophony and idols.
No rest for bureaucrats.  

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