The Metals

Bronzes, gray-silver lozenges,

planes, masses, undeniable

as inertia. Molecules' strivings

fanatic with strength.

Of an idolatrous worship,

the sect of projectiles

and knives. Envisioned

instrusions into flesh.

Hardware's hurt dream:

power, rank, rigidity

and regalia. Severers

of tissues. Cold sutures

for irreparable nerve.

Slag of nuclear burnings.

Vulcan's hammered-on rod:

lead a sullen heaviness,

iron the soul of a sword,

copper servant to cities,

gold an idol of thought,

but soft, a booty, hostage to daggers.

Metals: gravity's incandescence

hardened against

weeping. Cooled, stoic rock

obedient to ballistic

arc, loyal to a fuse. Molten

ire, ore cast in a fit

of rage into graves of molds. Stars

are souls, said philosophers.

Your origin is their furnaces.