WORD OF EARTH ( “geo- logos”) – a dream stream.
(from “RECITATION” (3)
Measureless are the layering of voices stratifying the night. A geology of language. A wisdom of the earth. A voice of weight. A voice of remembering. Mutterings over herbs and hunted, mutterings around campfires, incoherant weepings in empty spaces, rocking, rocking inconsolable.
The few
who have pushed through,
who have passed to the other side of the sky,
where the stars walk
on two legs, like people,
in brightnesss,
in brightness.
They find the rhythmic chants spinning out of the web along its thin, strong lines, its reliable patterns, its junctures. They weave and weave in and out of song, free to find and to lose form, to remember and to forget, but always to return to the axis, climbing their own spine-tree just for the view, just for the view.
In the dark,
snakes and daggers.
The hungry fingers, the hungry eyes.
To be sent out
and not to return home
empty-handed.
To never be bereft again, never that spun hollowness where power pulls to the edges and breathes itself away in a silence more devastating than sobs.
Click, clack,
the needles go.
Snip, snap
the shears.
She gathers up,
she gathers in,
she counts the knots,
she raises the winds.
She claps her hands and waves boil. The black cat weaves between her calves, purring. Patter, patter on the wet sand. The strings move deft between cold fingertips. A catching of moments. They are so intrigued, so curious like cats, like moths, these spirits clamber and elbow in to see more. Sticky wisdom traps them as flies. Their syllables mirrored and pronounced, taken from thin lips, pointed tongues, and turned, turned and shaped, malleable soul breath mingled to free the dreaming souls of drowned sailors anchored in the black, black starless deep.
They float and turn slowly.
Increments of light
bounce around empty eye sockets.
Teeth shed like wheat,
like barley, nicotine-stained.
Worn thin
and grazed by little fishes,
little fishes,
scoured by starfish,
bored by worms.
They rise and feel the release of water’s weight. They rise and rise, blow and shatter to powder, diatom dust. Turned song for whales, cathedrals of breathing space.
Oceans : just unfamiliar skies.
Skies : just uncharted oceans.
Skiff and wherry,
stars tacking dimensional tides,
solar winds,
trawling the chants,
the glimmer scale words,
the protection mantras, the seeds, the forms, the road home.
——
Conversing with Invisible Friends (5)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cathedrals, commentary, comments, iconography, Poetry, stone, writing on August 17, 2013| 2 Comments »
Conversing with Invisible Friends (5)
SLEEVES ROLLED, WRITER
Grit and bones
and sharp eyes
poking holes
in the sly fabric
of things.
A thankless task,
but it must be done
and continued to be done…..
—-
WOODLAND SIMULACRUM
A rustle of hymnals
A breeze of sighs
A birdsong of childen’s whispers
A sly, sharp toothed smile:
Reynard’s rising cassock…..
—-
MOTIF MOTIVE
A translation
Of passion
Across centuries.
Careless subtitles,
Redacted, rebranded,
Pre-ordered, double wrapped,
Only
In the deepest bones
Of nightmares
Far from any lights’ switch,
The rumble
Of Doom, a certainty,
So necessitates this frenzied
Juggling of human
And divine,
Wriggling
From flesh
To light.
——
Share this:
Read Full Post »