Wednesday, August 13, 2008

The Inner Sea
Canto IV

Night is it's own poetry,
That flourishes with falling dawn,
The clock ticks backward to the sun.

Bright a shining darkness,
That gives truth to all your lies.
It was a sweeter love,
Than could in hours be known.

Night is its own logic,
It's rules define the steps
In sunlit lands,
And by membrane wings takes flight.

Day is cometh not.
Day is coming not.
We stand amiss
Look leeward
At storm's abyss.

Gulf as chasm
Inward spasm
All that we have made.

My cheek with the strength of urgency,
And your wave of ages,
Spurning life, to live.
In me.

For of this canyon,
We both know,
You will not see the other side.

Night is its own memory,
That calls and cometh.
Rivers runeth toward that inner
Ocean that is me.

Distant to a distant sea.

Call me through the eyes of your son.
He will rise,
His gaze will be your light.

You are destined arrows of Apollo,
The armies of Ashur consume him,
The offal beneath the desolate sea,
That sand with waves is made.

That fertile crescent
that all your sun gods,
all your son gods,
strive to take from that mountain.

They light the darkness and shriek the silence,
And are blazing stars in bitter blanket dark.
The stream like rats, through metal torn a twain.

They surge through every gap and chink
And rip the life from blood and bone.

But it is the blood, bitter blood,
That shall claim more cities,
Than even Apollo might build.

What may will you will,
Do what deeds done you must,
When all is spoken,
And all is written,
It will be my writing on the wall.

The priestesses from long ago
Long ago they knew this.

The mensual calendar binds them all
And in the darkness binds them.
The ageless eating of the eyeless multitude,
That shall make you,
That shall take you
Come what may.

That which is once with us,
Blazes glory,
Another story,
Closed before it's made.

All your bullets will not do the work of one cut of mine.
From which I bleed.

We are all born,
Under unusual circumstances.

Turn as I might,
Stretch my body so,
Open fully,
Riven totally,
Spanned unto your delve.
What Eve and Lilith knew,
And so utterly I know.

While your world is aging,
And making age of ages,
I am making younger,

That fresh bloom of apples,
That his cheeks shall find there,
That come from blossoms
That only I bear.

But fruit is plucked and made to sweetness
And that is fruition, it is so.

He is will be,
Still and always your son.
That thing you bear
That crucifies you,
That one and only one thing I cannot give,
That which moves him,
In circles far from safe.

It is there it is there that is there,
I cannot go there with him.
Odes I could write,
To that one thing,
That I can feel as heat,
But never inner reach as glow.
That one thing I can hear,
In every breath and movement,
But can never know.

All sons are royal sons,
We swaddle or bath them with our tears.
The are are our explosion,
That reaches beyond our flesh.
For as you give that gift that makes you you,
So I know in my infancy of cunning goddess logic,
That in him I slay your mother,
And all the mothers before her,
And set my lineage on his stone.

This I knew,
My mother's in Babylon,
Wrote it too.
This they knew,
This they know in me,
This will be all that is known.

Come goddess, sing,
And memory must speak.
You can sing of arms,
But it is my arms that hold him.

This you must believe,
And this you must know.

That Night is another rhythm,
That sinks and swells
With tides laid out distant
In ages from primeval wash.
Brine that stings us still.

But how is this night different from all others?
In this night, that sun is born,
That will some day with memory born

The bonds that bind us,
The moments finds us,
The moon she smiles on me.

Her redemption,
beyond mention,
immortality's flow.

Because hear me here and
Even as you are mesmerized by primal

Your cities will burn of cold fire,
and pale are their faces,
factories steaming,
spires gleaming,
distant walks alone.

All will be taken in swallowed up,
in a winter within close.

Night is its own fate,
karmismatic as they are.
He is one
and always
your son.
Nothing takes this,
nothing slakes this,
but the one who after me comes.
I am vessel for him,
as he is the clouds and river,
for all the ones like me.

So it is so it is and so it must and ever will be.
Your God would have us say.


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