No Jewels

I want no jewels
trembling in their earthy veils
beneath my feet, awaiting
cold metal hands
slicing at the life
enfolding them
iron teeth chattering
caterpillar tongues lickerish
vacant reservoirs expecting
their fill.

They bring on the night
suck stars out of the velvet
clink them between armoured claws
persuade, with their glittering amnesia,
that everything is
for the best.

I do not want to forget
the icicles of light they snapped
from high up in the cavernous night
and stole; I do not want to
break with this home of hemispheres.
There is wholeness still;
I feel the memory of it embedded
in shy, dirty robes, too bright to be seen
by naked eyes or lifeless screens.
They take that ore and
it is all over.

I want no part of this.

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