Friday, September 24, 2010



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.

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