[https://bluelabyrinths.com/2021/01/03/the-cherubim-collection/](https://bluelabyrinths.com/2021/01/03/the-cherubim-collection/) Home I went down to run the body, sank in the colored maps of arteries and veins. I ended on my belly descending a massif of a million lights, cities, hotbeds, houses, colored streets. Top-built labyrinths and lightning rods, cones of light flashed like streets and sky. Scattered about its limbs were cities, to show the scale no one can see. The eyes saw ancient quarries, tunnels and caverns underneath. It was a city of dreams made fertile from the paradise fallen to ruin. Waking existence led down millenniums written in a century, a year, a day, aware and unaware of thought put before in words. You had to slip through holes to wriggle out in evening. Scissoring out dripping red insulation, cutting black bags out of the wall like stones, I pry the cracks between concrete, metal and wood. Sometimes mice droppings fall out at my feet. I push up, rebalance, ease down another yard, feet sticking out among fans and chairs with the smell of rot musk. Thinking to dismantle the image of the word machine, sighs of breath get me up and the blast feels good.