Christian Buehler, Glass Totems

Christian Buehler

There are mountains beneath
Those glass totems in your city
Stalking like hunters on four legs
Situated upside down on impossible ceilings
While you prowl foot to foot in sync on sidewalks
Measured and cut in the unknown spirit of the city

But there are also subsurface panthers
Heading along the shore of Vern’s ocean
Remembering those things lost to us
In places of no memory

Those teeth of ours that have fallen out
Were intended to be sown into the ground
Not throw into the sky towards magpies
Who must think we are mad

So many altars to infrastructure
And the snagging metalwork
Fringing those streets that came all the way here
Away from the hollow

My totems are the ascending hills
Those that, if had hands and religion
Might cross themselves with silver
At the sight of a mass approach

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