a poem of earth and wires

A modest man,
he stepped out into
the close,
nicely decorated 
in light Baroque
bonework
 
Acilius was dead,
premature disposal,
a premature burial
 
I know you see this
 
...looking back
before.....
.......
the flames we doused,
all the flesh cooled,
buried in the earth,
cloaked by the sky,
tucked in
under the clouds
 
“ I am only doing what
I have been
programmed to do,”
whispered
Hatchepsut from the
little
universe that Ray had
created
 
I had to remember that
ray himself was having
to
control Hatchepsut
 
he’d consumed her with
his
machine some time ago
 
so that was the deal
 
I picked the little
Egyptian
mummy off my buttery
toast
and placed her back in
the mathematical
landscape