Anthropocene Clock Face (The Book of Gates)

A poem based on the ancient Egyptian Book of Gates, a mythic narrative of death and rebirth

D.W. Baker is a poet and reading teacher from Saint Petersburg, FL. His work appears or is forthcoming in Snowflake Magazine, Gastropoda, hedgerow, Modern Haiku, horror senryu, and elsewhere. Find him on Twitter & Spoutible @lowermelody

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First Hour

Descending gently
through the waves
until I reach
the hidden place:

After sailing into the maw
the door becomes shut.

I feel
but do not hear the weeping
of those still seen.

Second Hour

Let me claim
replenishment 
through fire:

I walk above the damned
for I was one

who planted
the olive trees —

Third Hour

What becomes
the serpent
in this boiling lake?

All our furnaces
have taught — the taste
of flesh – of burning
rot —

Fourth Hour

Here we ferry
our own ghosts:
screaming

tendons – flesh-bound
hopes —

seeking the release
of snow —

Fifth Hour

What did you magnify
in time?

Sixth Hour

Deeper
still
the serpent’s tail —

defends the site
of union — bound

with earth’s flaming
chambered heart —

Seventh Hour

The machines above weeping
toxic dust —

at last we'll come
clean
when the boil runs
out.

Eighth Hour

Grasping towards a rope,
mistaking a noose
for a ladder
again.

Ninth Hour

Becoming birds
while there 

is oxygen enough

to fly —

Tenth Hour

Raise my flag
and wave it,

without knowing —

the difference between victory and surrender —

Eleventh Hour

This rising fist
of earth —  strong

enough to break —
and build anew.

Twelfth Hour

Those who hold stars

and those who bend light —
come forth and show
the olive trees

what it means to bloom
again — with
the burning world —

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