Gallows hang with trappings of lives I have left unlived, and all my crafted hallowed places are burned again. A match set flame to rituals and spirits I was just getting to know. The curve of the earth tips and tilts, and I find I feel like I am being spun round and wrung to bits.
Another turn. Another season. On and on in the perception of the cognitivie earthen’s collective soul. Toshidoshi, okorumente.
Through this logic, I can know my core is made up of stardust. And inside this heart is a black hole with all the memory and knowing and componants to make another star outside these bones and walls. A gathering of dust somewhere further off.
Is the live we’re living at the edge of extinction or the bending edge of the world?
Are there monsters and demons and greater beings waiting to devour us on the other side?
Is darkness the same as the night?
I tumble headlong into images I don’t comprehend. A rhyme and meter in time signatures I’ve never heard in quarter and quadruple tones my ear can’t pick apart.
Walk me with along this road a little while longer and our fingers will find thorns in each other’s sides. If we’re careful, we can pull them out one by one — for a little while.
Third, fifth, and seventh day of spring. The sun blazes over-bright in our tender winter eyes. And how funny that we spin around it and not the other way.
Center of the soul is the center of the world and both, I swear, are made of molten rock super heated to flow like blood through veins until life bursts forth.
I am approaching, slipping, sidling in toward the warmth.
Cradle me in that safe old dark.
I only want to be loved hard.