from Symphony No. 9
(nocturnes & thresholds)
6
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
devolving
from a prescient
elemental self
“now the chthonic
sirens in the wood
hovering
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
24
This moment dies
without a spirit
infused
or a face
turning
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
removed
to a quantifiable abstraction
as if it can be
an empirical measure
intimately understood
one
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
62
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
penetrating
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
evaporating
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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