Saturday, July 27, 2013

Ric Carfagna

from          Symphony No. 9
          (nocturnes & thresholds)


And to understand this vastness
this ghosted cosmic sentience
scattered among the wounded
autumn debris
when the sky is
a throbbing abscess
leaking a caustic life-force
which stains the pavement black
and leaves the landscape
a sallow portrait
of hollow faceless masses
       and it is here you enter
       the blank page
       unaware of the other
       in the mirror
       or in the eye observing
       movement of hollowed bodies
       on hypothetical ancient continents
       buried beneath the ocean’s depth
       and the blood
       flowing to brittle limbs
       and formless life
       from a prescient
       elemental self
“now the chthonic
   sirens in the wood
   as in a dream”
and the shifting epicenter
of the brooding apocalyptic seethe
and the gray strands of dissolving cirrus
falling through a crepuscular sky


This moment dies
without a spirit
or a face
from the identity
the mirror reflects
an insignificant detail
the arcing curves
in the crow’s wing
or a veil covering
the firmament at dawn
“and yes it is useless”
to try
to interpret
the consciousness
resident in the hydrogen atom
or the thought process
of the gnat
to a quantifiable abstraction
as if it can be
an empirical measure
intimately understood
hidden behind
the wave length
of interior light
and one
in a world
of deities
and angels
imitation of breath
and passages
across a transparent threshold
where stones
are wordless sentinels
keeping watch
as a night falls
from an ocean of eyelids
and a sentience departs
the autumn leaf
dying on the forest floor


Not again
to dream of the sea
as a desert
viewed through a doorway
or the stilled-wind blade of grass
as echoing
the inertia
of an existential annihilation
“it is more”
a diverse phenomena
a splintering shaft of light
the stain glass pane
the synergistic commingling
of sub-atomic elemental symmetries
“it is more”
a possession of
a deeper evolution
intrinsically embraced
a substratal threshold
oblique in its
dimensional perspective
“it is”
a glass tear
of empathic lamentation
or a sparrow
on a limb
within the eye’s
averted gaze
“it is”
a summational zero
looming in the trough
of primordial sentience
a bleak glimmer
of dying night
saturating the burning tundra’s
frozen plain
and it is”
a passion torn
from fleshless waste
and apocalyptic negation


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