Prediction

Prediction

The question is of

the moment.

Playing out narrative

serial stories strung

fully in tune with the moment,

resonating with immediate energies

into a layered frame.

There is no future.

Past is but prologue.

We are spinning wheels and looms.

Each processing growing into

the next, never completed.

Within the sacred crystal

of the moment

question and answer merge,

synthesize eternity.

I hold a ball of fire

in my palm

behind my eyes

consuming me

engulfed in flaming pain

crackling frame-dissolving

into ember

into sparks

igniting hair and lashes

Yet out of ash

always renewed

ready to burn again

I can't sleep for the light

find respite from agony

I am consumed

atom by atom

then realigned to play again

at disintegration

Towers fall carrying 

their servant's blood

and sinew stripped from angry life,

terror, torture.

Imagine burning stars

fire sprites twisting, evolving,

given form and awareness

low-wage jobs, small talk;

they woo and reproduce,

fall into regulated line.

Over millennia memories lose shape;

days lose their charm, become mundane.

Consumption means something different

from disease or connection.

Embers rearrange, form scary bits

of insight, inspiration,

pinpoint bright,

urgently burning.

Sorrow, numbing ice, inconsolate 

pain too profound to acknowledge.

Vultures circle, maggots feast.

Blood-sucking parasites

imbibe sacrificial delight,

leering, sneering, snarling, slavering.

Your servants so eager for your favor

fatten themselves for slaughter.