Other installments of the poem Gomorrah can be found
Gomorrah prepares to leave. He picks up the book from
the attic. It had been there for years on top of the piano
next to an empty bird-cage. City Hall requested it. Stale
water in a vase holds a grudge. Maliciously bends light.
He thinks of the flower Susan gave him. A rose. She picked it
from Father’s Garden when they were kids. She said
“This is you. I picked you.” Her skin was translucent when
they came for her. Luminescent. The Old Gods hid in the wind.
It masked their laughter. The furnace was stoked. Coals burned.
All Susan left behind were her children. She told Gomorrah
they were his now. The father being long dead. He kissed her hand
and wept and cursed heaven and raised the boys until grown.
Michelangelo left one day. Crossing the mountains to the
ocean to sail in unbound compassion to distant lands. Jonah
descended into the catacombs in search of The Door. Both of
them never returned. The Old Gods disappeared in a sigh.