Fingers of the Unspeakable

Morpheus's Vapors

 

 

As the wind descended

from the tree top feathers

its fierceness,

slicing through my inner stillness

Awakening murmurings

deep inside me.

Echoes of a past life wildness

I had forgotten

Somewhere

after my expulsion from the womb

and those first neural connections

coalescing mimicked patterns

of word sounds

I found myself

called into a strange

new denseness…

What dark magician had

conjured up this spell

which pulled me into

       this world of frozen forms

which could only move.

They so lacked

     the vaporous solidity

of soul forms

whose manifestation

was not in structure but

lived in the dance

of their morphing.

Living condensation

and sublimation manifestation

and absence worlds

in transition

flowing through each other.

Those are the words

being spoken

with segments

from morphabetic letters

which never repeat

and can never

be written

but only spoken

in a morphing dance

                              dancing.

 Memories reminding

that I

like a message in a sealed bottle

thrown carelessly

into a dry sea

am now having to

learn how to dance

my bottle

and tap out my message

on the stones scattered

on the endless

                  empty dryness.

Without eyes to sea

or ears to here

I sit wondering

if there Is anyOne

listening

to the

     rhythms being spoken…

First Tap

It all begins
   as a pin pick
      on the fabric
         of void.

One finger tap
 to the tightly stretched
  drum head of eternity
     silently waiting
         to sing.
One tap
   just one
     one note
        and all the universe it's echo.
       
What is the beat?
   where the rhythm?

Who is this drummer
   and what is the song they play?

Momenubbles

Moments, self-contained, infinite, bubbles, eternally real.  Each born into their center flowing to a unique originating past and outward into a future without limit or boundary.

Strung together, tethered by consciousness, each by its own existence, butting up against another making it the lie, never merging or blending into a stream.  

So time flows from one moment through to another to contain them, it’s self another lie and illusion of consistency. 

There is nothing

(There is deep inside, silent, without cause or reason

in core of my soul

an eternal pain and deafening sadness which

as long as I can remember

has always been there)

There is no drink that will get me drunk enough

            to forget and deaden that pain

There is no drug that will get me high enough

            to put a smile on that sadness

No vision or dream that could ever come true

            that would make this life worth the living

            or it’s ending worth the dying

Only the smile in your eyes,

            the joy in your words and

            the kiss of your lips on mine

 that makes it so.

A Piece of Grin

He had a piece of grin gripped tightly in his mouth

and wouldn’t let it go.

It was his hold on sanity to keep from

falling into the dark pit below.