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AN INSTANT OF MIDNIGHT

Fragments of midnight
Drip.
Fears congeal.
But wait and watch,
Hold,
Turn not away.
See them stretch
Long shadows,
Return to only
Small knotted memories,
Hopes lost, misplaced,
Strategies discarded.
The grooves of tears
Gnawing cascades
Down ravines
To the slow, dark plateau,
The lake of now
An instant of
Midnight.

****

Move past the words
And there is just
The pumping songs of blood.

Down velvet streams to pools
Where washed cells
Glow golden in caves
Of pleasure,
Delighting in organic dance.

Enwrapped,
Swing upon the breast of being itself,
Resting in motion
The way a leaf belongs
The way a star belongs
The way a moment belongs.

In eternity
Held forever.

****

The names of night
Are scribbles
Within its own darkness.

Scattered fragments
Of midnight
Glint, investigating
Endless variations:
One pattern, one sound
A horizon to hollowness
An edge, slurred, smudged,
Scumbled.

Each form extruded
Attempting definition.
Continuous recitation
A rope between emptinesses.
Each, despairing, spins
Vanishing to void.
Choosing a new name,
A new path,
Emerging, bubbled into being,
A roar of foam,
White noise of silence,
Ocean vastness
Vast, holy darkness,
Rumbling hum.

****

one thousand
And eight names
Of returning night.

****

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Atom – Heart – Mother
(Third object of transcendence).

Dark moon.
There is nothing to measure
The passing or staying of time.

A pewter plate, leaden glow heaviness
Is upon me,
Upon which ants crawl –
An incessant hunt
For meaning’s addictive
sweet crumbs.

No silver sickle,
No thin cold sharp edge to sever
Glutinous swags of thought.

Tedious, this circularity,
This inability to dive
Beyond the debris.

No owls,
No bats outside.
All opposition slain
To the blundering flight of our own
Monochromatic, monotheistic,
Magnificently naive self-appointment
As pinnacle and paragon.
The Mysteries and miracles,
Only annoying flies bouncing off
Dirty panes of glass.
The backroom boys of nightmare,
Gagged and emasculated
Now that we load
The silver bullets of rationality.
Stallions and nightmares, wild kelpies
That would drag us screaming
Below the dark, still, loch waters,
Consigned to flickering square screens.
Insanity banished,
The moths of eternity
Shattered, spiralling torches,
The quenchless fire of plutonium:
Endless yuga
Of sudden and slow, bright death.

Dark moon.
Nothing to see here.
Stars hidden
Awaiting Great Time,
O Mother of Darkness.

Clouds part a clearing,
A darker nothing beyond grey nothing.
A pause.

Travel down peripheral paths, abandoned, webbed, forgotten.
Away from the echoing vestibules and cavities trawling feckless thought.
Rooted through the feet, an anchoring of sober light.
With breath,
A river of acquiescence
Gravitates down
To our hidden heart,
soil,
solid,
matter,
mother.

A silver sewing,
A phosphorescent bond,
An electric blue tang
Of diving clarity.
An exhalation in the centre of stillness,
Stratigraphies of forgiveness,
Of forgetting, of remembering.

New wings spread
Flexed wide, descending
Upon the winds
Of interior light.
A song bursts upwards
That is a dance.

The three ways, the three channels,
The three poisons,
Become one tree
Vast and sheltering,
at once seed and fruit.
Branching senses interweave,
A galactic arch.
Subatomic tendrils reach sustenance,
abundance, belonging
And are cherished.

Sleep and the Sleeper
A moon in shadow
A silver tree ringing with light
A forest of stars.
Bitterness, a blessing
That wakes and warns.

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