Pentecost Runes

Words in vests disrobe themselves along the town wind,
and the phonemes breath of squawks.
Bleeding rapture of swords above the clouds,
the period dials close out another sun.
 
Weaver, withdrawn into Ptolemaic decrees of transmobile stone,
the birds fall from an angel,
and the feathers dissipate through their paper folds
into jigsaw metaphor.
 
Reborn in hemlock pulp, the heresies blister in gold.
 
The enjambments strip into their twilight minx.
Stars emerge from the pupal moulds
as illiteracy collapses inward
on non-syntactical illumination
against the scatters of ink
that flood the pores
of meta-theoretical code.
 
Undone of interpretation
and directed to the heavenly throes
of remastered skin,
the judges retreat from their council.