Washed upon the shores of past earth,
I came upon the low house in sand.
Therein, shelter, darkness.
Light within to see
the word written within bone
and nerve, breath moving
the frames, building
a charge of years.
Swelling with divided unions,
I came upon the sunrise afar.
Burnt star collapsing within
that low house, pulling everything
to the center,
not heard before.
Yet rotation of realms
about the fixed center (it too moved)
resolved the creativity of speakers
and painters upon the street, coming forth
a genuine eidolon.
Turning, light and rush
of liquid memory caught in
my summer's end, the glances of eye
brushing with gentle lash upon the skin
of the book's pages.
Color of wheat in autumn's rain
tinges the vision, the writer of listings
listing in the seat, in vibrato of the chanting, rolling
tongues and parting lips
meeting in permutational interlock
and release, spilling the icons of action
upon the skin
of the book's pages.
From leaves coiled in leather
arises word in thought's smoke,
turning, 'volving and slipping
in upon itself and out, spreading
Inhaled in the upshoot,
fitting key & lock in nerves'
endless branches, alighting fires
upon the grey-floor of the ancient bonework;
The air becomes electric laughter, rising.
Over red-iron mountains of wrought age
through tangled weed of million-years,
the mover glides and falls some.
Looking at the span
of possible permutation,
experience of other
is of utmost sacrament, no time
or space for anything less;
Choosing the collection of ports,
there are Universal Gates
to consider... each
working in context
of the individual's
And thus openings create
lines of chosen action,
and very possibly
aligned with the free-fall of
The mover dips and glides,
leaps and looms,
and falls some.
Allure through open windows drew
forth the eyes,
heavy with sand and rain
from the nights' storms;
scented wind, of dew and ion
washed within and over,
spaces without four walls.
through rough hewn tunnels
of memory and motion, accumulated
gestures soon called the heavy eyes
To the symposium to be supposed
were not all present, but suggested;
suggestive of the internal
where union is clean, well adjusted;
An old scribe notes
and compiles, sure and ready
in communion with the regency
of enacted trials.
The work proceeds
with letters to write
and temples to quarry;
Beloved to be honoured!
and it came without sound.
Quickly, presenting a picture
of what needed
to be done.
are accomplished in
One, then two,
then infinitely more
to come and
each step, dissolution
I let the shades drop
one by two, allowance
of new form
to the crowning acheivement,
a new grave being dug for passing
fragements of what I could have
Letting them flow,
letting them go,
letting them fly
unto clouds of thought
which change in the wind.
I am blown away.
Further afoot, the gatherer
covers ground, searching fields
of market and niche for the kill
Or seeding to till, fresh sprout
or tender shoot to guard.
No birds in the yard,
and the oven's nearly burnt.
Simmering, shimmering fumes
bedeck the haze of sunset
through the screen.
It's now coming forth in song -- move!
Land of grown form
beneath softened feet,
breathing mist of
soil and green,
a haze past noon.
Tilling, revealing, churning,
and sifting soil from root,
I came upon the treasure
of time, the golden royal fruit.
A coiling dancer, matter darkened
and damp, eased lithe and curved;
brain and bone, the sinew bending
in pump and blood, sweat, the work of action.
Steam, and cooling salts to sink the heat
bathe the shadow-screen witness in kinetic vapours.
The gases of proportional thought
crsytalize in the alembic, faithfully
prepared for dissolution. Again,
and still further -
the eyes open
in nested wonder -
fourwise, then up.
the hawk see,
Echoes, returning visitors of nerve's traffic,
children of body's past empires
greet the dawning mind;
the moment of repeated wheels afresh
bubbling up in ecstatic union,
these memories dissolving,
Wake me to new visions.
A moment's hostage of condition
quakes the grip of sight,
saturated in the flood of
singing scrolls, the ear cannot cleave.
The array'd pallet of scenery calls the mover to motion.
Familiar friends through a veiled door,
I'm set to waking
No sense of exact measures,
the teapot is humming with vague whistle.
Time is cleaving the air.
Trace -- silhouette of former image
luring the eye in a torus-dance, by
degree, resolution snaps in.
Webbed currents of pathways past,
leaping forth with harvest and feast;
budding deep in singular action.
Folded waves of evening heat
gild the eye and hand
in a glow of scintillation,
through paper razors of
Dismissed, and set to motion.
Choked opening, the strayed light
returns a flood, mirrors tremoring in
The tiny vessels burst, dissolved
in their bond with a lover unending;
Splashes of the foam in which it sings,
can take you high
so high, I think I can fly,
with wind of change
and blazing rays
the seams of fog won't stay.
Drifting thought, my greying clouds
still in rolling
With clenching mind and easing bleed,
my soaring floor comes crashing down.
swift to crash
in the lonely hiss of dusk,
What comes of mice
to throw themselves in
To gaze with
coming far to claim their homes,
what the Reserve has been
With calling songs,
the people raise a pen,
and set a glass;
Let us see what the
New Storm Exposes!
Coiled dances unfurl in the twilight's drift; the sediment
of being, layered pressures of the ages coalesced in nerve & bone,
spinning, spinning about the gyr;
a stone that is loosened mineral
and water, the body of me
a burning stone in the moonlight.
Such a stoney-thick mantle, my thoughts!
The echoes of cavern & fold, crushed in accumulation,
fulfilling necessity above. But O! I drift,
at least on the surface. Below the sea of fire dips and dives
anon, wiley rivers of liquid light, carving the serpent-tunnels
of brain & heart (ever ever between)
And the hum,
sweet drum! Curving rains in the spiced air, thrown
from high, that which was rushing below. And two were coiled in one,
for the depths ran quick with the rubbing of bodies,
plates of personae above, vibrating as they slid upon & below
one another, tectonic
healing forth, energetics of suns
anointing the air with ash and ember,
and I am touched with sky,
wavicles of charge, awaiting,
Though worlds be tossed in my birth,
mine own is but the buddling of one more
dawn of lightning... to the west, mine eye,
the heart, imagination sails --
letting the eruption-azure rain its
blessings upon the land.