Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

60
xviii. Crippled
Once. Twice. Breathe. Relax. Now conjure
at will. Finger the shimmer in things.
Raise a telling strum, fail. Raise, & again.
Shriek for a swathe of yesterday flesh!—
an angle receding no magick can rightly trace.
Great eyes were praying kind to a moment.
Where is it? New pilgrims ride on. Join or
be damned. It hurts. Raise or dwindle.
***
xix. Careen
Sought singing light within shaped flesh,
knowing’s greater fury, open-thighed cry
of bright meaning, among ancient branches
of heat & wonder atwist making language,
songs fruiting as language’s bloom & bleed,
giving drizzle sense & the invisible intent.
Become now a careen of willows & wings,
unclosed circle of despair. Numb, twitch, numb.
Convulse & small barks for return, someone,
anyone, unto the moment blossom with touch,
cease of wishing’s begging gnaw, this time she
will stay, this time she will stay, this time
she will stay. Hurry & limp toward shifting
something. A life summing in songs & squalor.
Radiant chance crossed by paths of ache,
flashes of joy, her useless tap. This morning
found me strumming again.
Now chasing a way found by other creatures or
kind, less grit in the melody, a singing
without divide. Brutality left to sun & years.
A cough of stars tonight & pressing noise
the world offers as magick to those quiet &
intense enough to translate.
She will stay. She will stay. She will stay.
Someone, anything, will matter again.
***
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005