This poem comes from a phrase that I read in a Tom Robbins book, Another Roadside Attraction. The phrase was rhinestone crustations, referring to the sleep in the eyes of two people who had spent their first night together. Half the poem was lost due to my own stupidity and I couldn’t reconstruct it. I suppose what’s missing is part of the story of this poem.
About
Incandescence spilled out onto the night floor like Abraham tried to spill the blood of Isaac. Determined like light was the will of God himself with no recourse of reason. In it's path all shadows were obliterated along with matter and time. Illumination, leaving nothing in it's wake but a sorrowful longing for something sublime and unimaginable. Somewhere something just got a little more magical.
Meta
Following
